


A Game Of Equals

by Irony_Rocks



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 07:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 94,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irony_Rocks/pseuds/Irony_Rocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. He’s a seasoned double-o with a penchant for deep blue aston martins and high-tech screwdrivers. She’s a former jewel thief imprisoned for a murder she says she didn’t commit. When she escapes from prison to help him track down the stolen crown jewels, they’ll find they have a lot more in common than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

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[](http://i43.tinypic.com/38t9f.png)

He thought he’d pretty much seen everything while he’d been working his way up the ranks, establishing his credibility as an agent when most just saw a man too young, too juvenile. He’d proven them wrong, of course – with his cleverness and gadgets, his penchant for averting international disasters through a means that oftentimes proved too whimsical for standard British intelligence protocol. They called him “The Doctor,” a codename that had stuck with him from his very first assignment. Arms deals, black market trades, assassinations, plots to take over the world, a few nuclear disasters (averted) and one time he even managed to save the Queen herself.  
  
So he’d thought he’d seen pretty much everything in just the few relatively short years he’d been doing this job.  
  
River Song, then, shouldn’t have taken him by surprise. “Are you sure about this?” her Warden asked him, frowning. The Doctor glanced at the picture from her file, walking side-by-side down the long empty halls of Stormcage, the single highest security facility prison in all of England. “She’s dangerous as they come,” he warned, “Use her, then discard her. Don’t let her pull you into her games.”  
  
But the Doctor rather _liked_ games, actually.  
  
He’d seen plenty of women as beautiful as her; seen them con and beguile and flirt their way into a dozen situations that would require most men to use force or violence – it was why he always liked working with women, actually. They had so much more finesse, more  _style_ , more intelligence and common sense than the next three men over combined. There were silly rumors that he’d gone through half a dozen female partners in the last few years because he just couldn’t settle on  _which_ woman he liked most, but that was a lie. He wasn’t a playboy; the women – he was only friends with them, and they always left him, not the other way around.  
  
“Don’t let her suck you in,” the Warden continued, keys jangling in his pockets. “She claims she did nothing, but they all claim that. River Song is serving a life sentence for Murder One, and that’s too short as far as I’m concerned. Are you sure you want to deal with her? She’s locked up in solitary confinement for a reason. To work with her could be a mistake—”  
  
“What’s life without a few of those, eh?” he tossed back, smiling.  
  
“This is serious,” the Warden scowled.  
  
“Oh, yes, all very serious business here. You won’t see a smile on this face, only frowns. But while I appreciate your advice, Warden, the very unfunny thing is that Her Majesty likes having her royal crown jewels in her own possession; pesky thing, the relationship between women and their jewelry. River Song knows better than anyone who could’ve stolen them.”  
  
It was a task beneath him, to be honest, to retrieve these jewels, even if they were royalty’s – but one simply did not turn down a personal request from the Queen, and she’d taken such a shining to him ever since he’d saved her that one time.  
  
The Warden frowned. “Honestly, if she wasn’t locked up tight in her cell, I would tell you that she should be your prime suspect.”  
  
Before the Doctor could further alleviate or aggravate the other man’s sour mood, depending on how much patience he wanted to exert in the task, a random guard unlocked the last gate to her ward and all three men stopped short. The Doctor was the first one to step inside, treading further down the long empty hallway.  
  
In her lonesome cell, through the heavy metal door left ajar, there was a scribbled drawing of a woman with wavy hair. _“Hello, sweetie,”_ it simply said.  _“Better luck next time?”_  
  
“Oh my god,” the Warden declared. “She’s escaped!  _Again_!”  
  
That put a lasting stamp on his impressions of River Song.  
  


* * *

He tracked her down to Rio, attending a rather posh charity dinner, of all things. The party was hosted at a multi-million dollar beach house, and the guests were all perfectly suited for the black-and-white-only affair with expensive gowns and suits – even himself, in a neatly pressed black tux and matching top-hat that he broke out for special occasions. He loved this hat, particularly.

River Song, however, bucked the trend. She stuck out amongst the crowd and not just because of the hair; in a deep red gown that fell all the way to the floor, hugging around her curves in all the right ways, and with killer heels to match, she looked… she looked far better than a woman convicted with a life-sentence  _should_ , in any case. He watched her from afar at first, mingle with the other men, smile and laugh, and even once, even though he knew she hadn’t the faintest clue who he was, she spared him a single rather significant look across the crowded room, smiling brazenly at him. He’d felt something slam into his chest and stick, then, and he smiled back, tipping his top-hat to her.

He approached her after the third dance, and she smiled graciously. “Of course, sweetie, I’d love to dance. But I should warn you, you better know what you’re doing before you decide to tango with me.”

“I think I can handle myself,” he replied, easily.

“Oh, handle yourself all you like, but a girl is rather more interested in how you handle  _her._ ”

He grinned. Oh, he already liked her. Shame he was going to have to throw her back in prison. They spun around the dance floor for a while, and despite her taunt, there was no Tango to be had, not that they didn’t enjoy themselves.

“So, how  _did_  you manage to find me, Doctor?” she said, and he looked to her, shocked. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You think I don’t know about you? That I don’t know everything there is to know about you? You’re the Doctor, the man sent to bring me down. I’d take exception to the development, but I am rather flattered by all the attention.”

“Stealing crown jewels will get you a lot more than attention,” he returned. “Give them back, River. You don’t mind if I call you River, do you?”

Her smile went wide, flirtatious. “Call me whatever you like, sweetie.”

Two could play at that game. He leaned far more into her personal space than she leaned into his, whispering right into her ear. “Give them  _back_ , River.”

“Or you’ll do what? I’m already sentenced to life in prison. What are you going to do?” She pulled back and winked. “Spank me?”

“Oh, I love a bad girl, me, but I don’t think you’re grasping the seriousness of what’s happened. The crown jewels. Men have hanged for far less.”

“Bless. You still think this is about jewels. This is about more than that, Doctor. You’re being used, and you don’t even know it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tell me, what do you know about the Silence?”

He straightened, staring at her with a quiet look of surprise. The Silence was one of the oldest ultra-fascist regimes out of Europe; it had slowly been amassing a great wealth of influence and money over the last few decades and, if their dictatorial leader Madame Kovorian was anything to judge by, their plans for England weren’t particularly benevolent.

“What do the Silence have to do with any of this?”

She leaned in and whispered, “ _Spoilers_ ,” before pressing a quick kiss to his lips, and he returned it, unthinkingly, like it was the most natural response in the world – and that, clearly, was a mistake. Because the next thing he knew, everything faded to darkness and he blacked out.

* * *

He awoke groggily in the passenger seat of his own car – a deep blue Aston Martin that he nicknamed  _Sexy_ , equipped with more gadgets and weaponry than most submarines. He’d designed it himself, and  _never_ let anyone else drive it. And here she was, one Miss River Song, driving  _his_  car on a high-speed chase down the coastline.

“What?” he began with a yell, disoriented.

“Hello, sweetie,” she returned. “I’d find something to hang on to, if I were you.”

“What are you doing driving my car?” he demanded, and someone fired at them from the front car. “And who's  _shooting_  at us?!”

“Look,” River said. “The way I see it, we’re both after the same thing. What you’ve been told about me has been a lie. I am not your enemy, Doctor. In fact, if I were a betting woman, I’d say I may be your greatest ally.”

“Why the bloody hell should I listen to anything you have to say?” he asked, then swiped angrily at his lips. “And was your lipstick _poisoned_?”

“Don’t be so overdramatic!” she chided. “There was just a sedative in it, not a poison.”

“Oh, well, _just_.” He scowled. “Pull the car over right now, and—”

“Can’t,” she said, and took the next left turn hard, so hard, in fact, that he slammed right into her. “Hands, Doctor!” she teased with a laugh. “You’ll have to do more than swing me around the dance floor once before you can get a more intimate feel of me. But I do love that you _tried_.”

He flushed, then scowled again, adjusting the lapels of his jacket. “Who are we chasing?”

“Three guesses, and the first two don’t count,” she returned airily, then fired her gun at the vehicle in front of them, another sports car going dangerously high-speed through all the twists and turns of the road; thankfully, River seemed adept at handling his baby, and she was managing not only to keep up, but she was firing off a few rounds with expert marksmanship. Whoever River Song was, she was more than just some bloody  _thief,_  that was for sure. “Look,” she said, “Give me twenty-four hours to track down a lead. Just twenty-four hours. Tag along if you like. If I don’t prove to you by then that this game is rigged against me, that I’m a patsy, then I’ll go quietly back to prison. You can even cuff me, yourself.” She smiled. “It might even be fun.”

“Is that so?” he returned, distrustfully, then looked to the road. “Tree, tree! River, look out for the tree!”

She swerved away easily. “You’re too good of an agent to be sent on a mission to recover some crown jewels, and you know it. There is something bigger at play. If you don’t trust me, then trust your instincts. What are they telling you right now?”

“That you’re insane!” he snapped at her.

“Well, rumor has it you’re a mad man, so we’re well matched, don’t you think?”

He looked to her, and she met his glowering gaze, very collected, her own eyes crystal clear, and from one moment to the next, something changed. He couldn’t have named it, beyond a collection of gestures: one eyebrow rising in a narrow elegant arch, the wind rushing through the wild locks of her hair, an upward tilt to the corner of her mouth; inconsequential details that meant nothing, changed  _nothing._  Of course nothing changed. He blamed the adrenaline or the concussion – surely he had a concussion – but the air between them suddenly went electric. He was leaning towards her before he realized it.

“Twenty-four hours,” he told her. “And if this is some sort of trap or ruse, River Song, you’ll greatly rue the day the you ever decided to play games with me.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she returned with a laugh. “You won’t regret this. Game on.”


	2. Chapter 2

The flaming wreckage of the car crash up ahead could probably be seen for miles, and the Doctor knew they needed to get out of there before the authorities arrived. But beside him, River pulled his blue baby to a slow crawl to observe the damage she had wrought, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. The car they had been chasing had been flipped end over end, and the bonfire it had created for the night was measuring to some spectacular heights. 

“Forgive me,” the Doctor said, wryly, “but wasn’t the point of this chase something to do with getting information from him? Not much good if he’s dead.”

River shrugged like it was minor hitch in her plans, then pointed a few hundred yards away, where he could squint and make out the rough outline of the driver as he attempted to crawl away from the wreckage. River winked at the Doctor, then pushed open the door and climbed out. The Doctor followed her, and when they arrived at the outcropping of trees where their prey had taken refuge, there was a sudden burst of gunfire. Before he’d even thought about it, he’d pushed River up behind a tree-trunk for cover. A few stray bullets hit the trees surrounding them, while River regarded him with a smile.

“Such chivalry,” she cooed. “How very adorable.”

The Doctor glared back at her. She tilted her head aside, listening for their assailant’s movements, and the Doctor was rather preoccupied for a second by the sheer volume and coverage of her hair – dear god, how was that at all possible to control? – before he overheard something. Their injured assailant was using some type of radio, calling for backup. The Doctor quickly removed his sonic screwdriver from his pocket. It was his own design, one that even Q back at headquarters had been rather jealous of – and pointed it in the general direction of the injured man. A second later, there was a stream of cursing as the radio shorted out. 

“Sonic?” River questioned, studying the device.

He tucked away his screwdriver quickly, lest it end up one of the many things River Song decided to confiscate from him – like his precious car and apparently his common sense for the night. River separated from him without a word. They both went opposite directions, figuring out a gameplan without discussion, and when the assailant fired frantically out at them, it wasn’t long before he’d exhausted his ammunition. 

The Doctor approached him from behind, while River sauntered right up to the wounded man with a brazen smile. “Vandeleur,” she recognized him, feigning affection. “It’s been too long.”

“Not long enough,” Vandeleur returned, sullenly and with a gasp of pain. His left leg was badly injured, but other than that, he seemed remarkably intact for the crash he had just taken. “What do you want, Song?”

“You know what I want. Everybody knows. Tell me about the Crown Jewels. What does Madame Kovorian want with them?”

“You’re the jewel thief, not I,” Vandeleur said. “You tell me.”

Her face drained of all amusement and lightheartedness. “I’ll give you to the count of ten—”

“Don’t bother,” Vandeleur returned. “I’m not saying anything. She’ll kill me.”

“And what do you imagine I’ll do?” River asked, coolly.

The Doctor slanted her an estimating look, and knew from his vast experience in the field that River had the look of a woman who wasn’t bluffing. He set aside the observation for the moment and instead interrupted the conversation by dropping to a bended knee. He retrieved the now-broken radio that had fallen by Vandeleur’s side. He opened the backing and fidgeted with the wires a little, while River and their little hostage looked on.

“What are you doing?” River asked, curiously.

“Fixing and fiddling,” the Doctor answered. “My two best specialties. You see, I may be Double-O status, but I’ve never particularly liked bloodshed. I don’t even carry a gun—”

“You don’t carry a gun?” River remarked, incredulous. “I’d heard the rumors, but I thought that greatly exaggerated.”

The Doctor smiled over at her, a bit smugly. “The rumors about me are  _never_  exaggerated. But I suppose your shock isn’t that surprising, considering I’ve already spotted two separate firearms hidden in that dress of yours. Got a thing for guns, River?”

She tipped an eyebrow up. “Those guns are  _very_  well-hidden, Doctor. Just how hard were you looking?”

He met her gaze dead on. “Point being, River, I know how to kill a man. I’ve done it plenty in my time – too much, even. But I’ve come to the point in my life where I think there are better ways of getting information rather than shooting at it.”

“Fixing and fiddling,” River repeated.

“Now you’re catching on,” The Doctor returned.

"I manage well-enough when I try."

"I'm sure you do."

“Oh, god, the flirting,” Vandeleur cut in, sourly. “I'm already bleeding and in pain. Do I have to watch this, too?”

The Doctor straightened, clearing his throat and getting back to business. He activated his sonic screwdriver again. This screwdriver could - with the one annoying exception of wood – open any type of lock, but he had plenty of other uses as well: it could remotely control almost any computer and most known devices, track things, and even perform live medical scans, which really came in handy when he needed to duplicate fingertips, retina scans and other physical markers to forge an identity.

He used it this time to pinpoint the origin of the people Vandeleur had been trying to contact for backup through his radio. Studying the results on the small monitor window on his screwdriver, he gave a pleased smile and disengaged the sonic.

“Well, then,” he said to Vandeleur. “I’ve just figured out either a safehouse or another secure location of your men, so it seems to me people will draw conclusions that you talked. Now, given the bluntness of their name, I suspect the Silence aren’t big on those who talk. You’ve got two options. Don’t tell us what we want, and we leave you to deal with explaining yourself to an unforgiving organization when we start a full-fledged assault on their previously-secure location. Or, you talk and tell us what we want, and we offer you protection.”

Vandeleur paled. “You can’t protect me.”

“Trust me,” he said, simply. “I’m the Doctor.” 

* * *

They returned to River’s hideout to continue the rest of the conversation. Apparently, she didn’t know the meaning of keeping low-profile because she was staying at one of the most swank complexes in Rio. The high-ceiling flat was elegant and scrupulously clean, and aside from a baby grand piano that sat unassumingly in the corner, the place was full of minimalist furniture and interesting art, and had a spectacular view of the Copacabana beach at night. 

Vandeleur, who up until this point had been sweating and pale, flinching as he walked on his wounded leg, collapsed inelegantly onto an off-white loveseat, staining it rather badly with his blood. River had remarked tartly that his information better be worth the cleaning bill she had coming her way, but then all jokes stopped as soon as he launched into his tale. And either Vandeleur was low-level on the totem-poll, or he was genuinely a better actor than the Doctor gave him credit for, because by the time he was done spilling his guts, the Doctor still wasn’t impressed. 

“That’s it?" the Doctor said. “The Silence want the Crown Jewels to  _sell_? That’s the big conspiracy?”

“They’re worth a pretty penny,” Vandeleur defended himself, huffing. “Millions and millions—”

“Try a quarter of a billion,” River cut in, “but unless it’s cut and sold, there isn’t a credible buyer on the Market that could use the jewels in anything other than their private collection. They’re too recognizable to be seen in any public collection, and if you cut and piece them, they lose their market value because they lose their iconic signature.”

“There are still willing buyers,” Vandeleur sniffled.

“The Silence is one of the oldest and most clandestine organizations in Europe,” the Doctor said, “They don’t need this type of heat, even if it is worth an obscene amount. Stealing the Crown Jewels is too…  _conspicuous_  for them.” 

Vandeleur glared. “Why do you think they hired a third party to steal it? Song had no known affiliation with our organization.”

“None  _known_ ,” River remarked, offhandedly.

The Doctor turned, slanting her an incredulous look. “So you’re telling me you were hired to steal the jewels?”

River stared for a bit, then sighed rather dramatically before retrieving her clutch bag. She opened it, unzipped the lining, before removing a key. She went to the far wall, unhinged an impressionist painting, and used the key to open a safe. Inside, resting safely untouched, was the Royal Crown. The crown was made entirely of gold, its design consisting of four crosses pattée and four fleurs-de-lis, with two arches on top. It included precisely 444 precious stones and, as River herself had stated earlier, was probably worth nearly a quarter of a billion dollars.

“In my defense,” she said, against his judgmental stare, “I never said I  _didn’t_  steal them. I just said I was being set up as a patsy for something greater.”

He floundered for words, struggling to contain his mounting anger and frustration; her blasé attitude in the face of her shameless behavior wasn’t helping, either. “I ought to take you in right now!” he threatened, surly. 

“You ought to,” she agreed. “But you won’t.”

“And why won’t I?”

“Because the Silence don’t want to sell this thing, and you know it. What you don’t know is  _why_  they want it in the first place, but you intend to find out.”

“Do I?” he scowled.

“Your sense of curiosity is infamous,” River said to him, confidently. “And apparently, the rumors about you are  _never_  exaggerated.”

The Doctor strode towards her in three long steps, coming face-to-face with her. “That still doesn’t explain why I need you.”

“You need me because you don’t know these shark-infested waters,” River answered him, and for once, the flirtatious and easy-going banter fell from her demeanor. She sounded hard as steel, but genuine, and her face was void of any hint of arrogance. “The world of thievery is vastly different than the world you know—”

“Different players, same rules,” the Doctor cut in, snidely, unimpressed.

“Do you know where to fence gems? Do you know the players on the field that can help transport stolen merchandise through customs? Do you know which rich patrons are real buyers versus the ones that simply talk a big game? Do you know the Silence at  _all_? Beyond rumors and speculations, you’ve never even had more than a sniff of their organization before. This is the closest you’ve ever been to them, and  _I’m_  the reason why.”

“You’re a liar and a thief and who knows what else,” he told her.

“I’m a great many number of things,” she agreed. “And I always own up to all of them. So, tell me, Doctor, what does it tell you when I protest something?”

He leaned in, threateningly. “I don’t trust you.”

“It wouldn’t be any fun if you did,” she said. “But I’m not asking for your trust. I’m asking you to honor your word. Twenty-four hours, you agreed. I have twenty-four hours to prove to you the makings of this conspiracy. By my count, I’ve barely hit hour  _two._ ”

He pulled back, and the rational part of his brain called to end this, right here, right now. He knew there was far too much about River Song that didn’t add up. Too many question marks, and any measly bits of answers he had didn’t make a lick of sense. For instance, why had she shown him the jewels? It would have been better for her to hold that card closer to her chest, but instead of keeping it quiet, she’d shown her hand. Why? Why lose the advantage like that? He didn’t know her very well – in fact, the more he stayed in her presence, the more he realized he knew practically  _nothing_  about her at all – but one thing was for certain. River Song wasn’t a fool. She wasn’t an idiot. 

There was a purpose behind everything she did.

He kept his face devoid of any emotions, though the calculating nature of his musings had probably slipped through anyway. River remained stark rigid in the face of his threatening stance, and though a slender man by nature, almost unassuming when he wanted to be, there was a long history of men that had curtailed to him when he got like this. Intimidated, perhaps, but River wasn’t showing it.

“Well, then,” he said, relenting for the moment. “Twenty-two hours and some change.”

River let out a small breath, though he wouldn’t have picked up on it had he not been standing inches from her. “Good,” she said. “Now if you don’t mind—”

Vandeleur used the distraction of their argument to jump from the open balcony of a flat on the twenty-seventh floor. His screams echoed for a few seconds before ending abruptly, and by the time River and the Doctor had rushed to the ledge, they found his body lying broken on the ground below. The curtains wafted breezily in and out, and the Doctor realized Vandeleur had ended his own life.

What could drive a man to kill himself?

“Do you see?” River told him, breathlessly. “I’m not making this up.”

* * *

They had to leave immediately, as the authorities had already been called, and River had enough time to pack the crown jewels and little else before leaving her flat behind. He drove this time, snagging the keys to his blue Aston Martin back with a pointed glare, before they were racing down the coastline again.

“So,” River remarked. “We tried my place. How about yours?”

Everything this woman said sounded like an innuendo. He wasn’t sure she could sound innocent even if she were reading a children’s book. 

The Doctor picked up the phone and hit the first speed-dial, and a second later he hit the access code that cleared him passed security. A few beats went by, and finally he was patched directly to his superior, the woman in charge of M16, as well as a former partner of his before she’d ascended the ranks.

“Oi, alien-boy,” Donna Noble greeted, tiredly. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Rise and shine!” the Doctor returned affectionately, and with enough cheer that he could just imagine the resulting flinch and scowl on Donna’s face. He cut to the chase, “I need you to authorize a team for me.”

There was the sound of some rustling and movement from the other end of the phone, as he assumed Donna got up from her bed and reached for the nearby hidden computer console that sprang up from her bedside. He waited for her to access her records, before hearing her suck in a breath. “Rio?” she demanded. “What in the bloody hell are you doing in Rio?” 

“Still using those trackers on me?” he asked, flippantly.

“You and all my agents,” Donna returned. “Now answer me, what are you doing in Rio?”

“My job.”

“So you’ve found River Song?”

He flashed a sideways glance at the woman in question, who was watching the conversation unfold with some interest. “In a manner of speaking.”

“The jewels?

“Yes.”

“So, you’re coming in?”

“Not really, no.”

“Why in god’s name not?” Donna demanded. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the girl and the jewels were the mission, right? I know that, seeing as I was the one that handed you the assignment in the first place.”

“Things got… complicated.”

“How?”

“Look, I need a few more agents to back me up. I’ve got an instinct—”

“Oh, god, you and your bloody instincts. You’re going to be put in the  _grave_  one of these days with your hunches!”

“Now, now, no need to be rude!”

Donna signed heavily again, and he could imagine her struggle for control. “Given that you have both prime objectives in hand, it would preclude the necessity of me sending you a team to finish the assignment. Would it not?”

“Ordinarily, yes, but you know me. How many times have I ever done things the ordinary way?”

“What trouble have you got into now?”

“The unusual sort, which is to say the usual sort for me and the unusual sort for anyone but me, but you know that—”

“I’m getting tired of cleaning up your messes!”

“But you’re so good at your job,” the Doctor reasoned, trying for flattery because he knew how thin the ice was getting beneath his feet. 

“I will put you on shit-duty if you cause another international incident,” Donna warned. “I’m serious, Doctor. Just because you were my partner for a time—”

“Your  _best_  partner. You told me. Even said best  _mate_ –”

“I am not going to cover you forever,” Donna cut in, short-tempered. “You’ve caused enough trouble for any three agents combined, even more than 007 and he’s been with this organization since the early sixties! Now what’s going on!”

He rolled his eyes, as the other agents and him worked on two entirely different methods of operation. He really hated being compared to the other Double-Os, but 007 in particular. “Donna, I can’t explain what’s going on. Not yet. You just have to trust me. Trust me, and send some back up. I need a team out here.”

“I thought you liked to work alone,” River remarked, from the side, before the Doctor shushed her.

“Well,” Donna said, over the phone. “You’re lucky I’m feeling too tired to argue much with you right now. Don’t make me regret this, Doctor!”

“When have I ever made you regret trusting me? And that incident with the skunk doesn’t count!”

“Who do you want?” Donna asked, ignoring the last statement. “Martha’s out on the field already, and you and Rose don’t work together anymore. That leaves, what? Amy and Rory—”

“Excellent,” the Doctor boasted. “Send the married couple in immediately! Tell them my location; the Sofitel Rio de Janeiro is where I’m staying. Have them check in under their psueds.”

“Fine,” Donna agreed. “But the next time we talk, you better have some answers and explanations to give me.”

“Will do,” the Doctor answered, and hung up.

He found River watching him, rather closely. “I didn’t know you were so close to the new M of the organization. Former partner?”

He ignored the question. “I’ve got agents coming in.”

“Can you trust them?”

“With my life,” he answered, “And even if I didn’t, I’d still trust them more than you.”

River feigned a flinch, landing a hand against her chest like he’d wounded her. “Such hurtful things. Doctor, you need to relax. Anyone ever tell you that you are a bit too surly? A fuddy-duddy.”

Actually, she was the first to ever imply anything of that sort. Usually people thought him too free-spirited and fun-loving, given his responsibilities. There was just something about this case and River Song that was putting him on edge; he supposed it was good the Ponds were coming in. Amy and Rory had a way of bringing out the best in him; the easy-going nature of their dynamics were well-established during the last few years while they worked together on various ops. Amy and Rory had even recently gotten hitched and taken a leave of absence for a much-deserved honeymoon, but he was looking forward to seeing his friends again and getting the band back together, as they say.

Of course, given River was along for the ride, he wondered how the dynamics might shift.


	3. Chapter 3

They arrived at his loft sometime around five in the morning, with a wisp of a red dawn rising. Amy and Rory weren’t due to arrive for at least another handful of hours, and River seemed to be using the hush to plan something – he could tell, just by the way she kept silent. They rode the lift up to the third floor, where he’d made previous arrangements to stay for the duration of his trip here in Rio. It wasn’t one of his favorite cities in the world, but it would do for the meantime.

He stripped off his bowtie as he went along, shedding his tuxedo jacket and throwing it across the back of an armchair. When he pivoted around, River stood near the foyer, slowly sliding off her dark coat to reveal the red dress she’d been wearing since they’d first met on the dance floor. She took in her surroundings with a careful gaze – the surreptitiously clean environment, the high-ceiling loft, the rooms highlighted in bright reds and blues. It was a temporary place for him, but River was looking at it like it might shed light on him. 

“Bathroom, spare bedroom, and kitchen,” he pointed out, half-heartedly, watching her. He undid his cufflinks. “There’s some spare clothing in the other bedroom that might be your size.”

“Entertain women here often?” She smiled. “What is it, I wonder, that they do which makes them leave their clothes behind?”

He smiled; the agency always equipped his hideouts with anything and everything he could ever require, including feminine necessities – but he let River draw whatever conclusions she liked. 

He escaped to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. His shoulders were tense and rigid, and for a moment he thought over the wisdom of leaving River alone in his loft – but there wasn’t anything of value here. He went about stripping, and by the time he was under the shower, he was mentally reviewing everything he knew from River’s file. Her reputation was one that preceded her - one of the most renowned thieves in the world, a cat-burglar, pickpocket and safe-cracker all in one. Her file mentioned something of an abusive childhood spent in several foster homes, but mostly it left everything to the imagination. 

She was supposed to be serving life in prison, too – for murder. The trial had told a story of a robbery gone wrong, but there was something fishy about the entire thing. River, for one, claimed innocence. If what he’d seen of her steely resolve thus far was anything to go by, she was indeed capable of murder given the right incentives.

Twenty minutes later, he was dressed and ready for a new day. He thought about wearing his favorite attire – a tweed jacket and a bowtie, but years of undercover work had readily informed him that women apparently had different tastes. It was remarkable how much easier his line of work went with the opposite sex when he wore a tailored Armani suit, instead. Though he had a fang of annoyance that River was already making him change his normal way of dealing with things, he figured the longer he kept up this charade of shameless flirting, the easier she might slip up. 

So, he donned on a dark suit and fixed his hair in a sleek back look, and checked his reflection once in the mirror. “Well, hello, you handsome thing,” he said smugly to his reflection.

“Indeed,” a feminine voice agreed.

He let out a (manly) shriek, spun about, and found River standing in the open doorway. “Wha—just,” he sputtered. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough, my love,” she teased, then walked across to straighten his tie, smoothing a hand down his chest. Apparently she’d found something that fit perfectly because she’d changed into a pair of tight jodhpurs and a rather snug white-jacket that did wonders for her curves. “So, ready for a fresh day? I’ve got someone in the living room you should meet.”

He looked to the open door. “You invited someone here?”

“Of course.”

“What part of safehouse do you not understand?”

“Safe is relative, and I’m on a timetable. Your team is still a few hours out, and I’d rather use that time to plan—”

“Already planning things. You just can’t keep still, can you?”

“You have no idea,” she told him, with a smile – and god help him, one thing River Song  _wasn’t_  was boring. He shouldn’t have liked that. (He sorta did.) “There’s intel I want to act on, and if you’re done prettying yourself up for the day, there’s a man outside that I’m sure will be impressed with whatever you throw on or choose to take off.”

“What?” he asked in confusion.

“This is already going to be fun, I can tell,” she said with amusement. “Just come outside. Jack is sort of the impatient sort. Although, now that I think about it, I’m sure for you he’d stick around.”

“Jack?” he repeated. “And just what does Jack do?”

“Doctor, you’ve got your friends in high places - head of MI6 and whatnot - but mine tend towards… how shall I put this delicately?”

He couldn’t help but be entertained by the ongoing banter because it was, at least, invigorating. “ _Low_  places?”

“Hard to reach places,” she corrected, with a wink. 

* * *

When River exited, she knew she had ruffled his feathers just enough to leave him off-center again. He followed her out without a word. It was unfortunate, as she was actually coming to like the man despite herself. Not at all what she'd been expecting, though what she'd been expecting was a bit of a mystery now. In any case, it was going to be hard keeping up this little game she had going with the Doctor. Push too hard, and he’d only grow more suspicious and snap. She needed to string him along just enough to keep him interested, yet distant – not easy, considering she could already tell this man was ten times more intelligent and clever than the usual sort. River normally liked a challenge, but she needed to keep focus on the task. 

There was too much at risk – six years, she’d been at this. Six years, and now she was so close to the Silence, to Madame Kovorian, she could almost taste it. 

Distractions, even one as attractive as the Doctor, weren’t affordable.

In the living room, Jack Harkness sat lounging on the sofa, arm flung across the back, legs stretched out in front of him as if he’d made himself comfortably at home. He wore a leather jacket and some dusty jeans like he’d just come in after a bout of motorbiking, and when he looked up at the Doctor, he broke out in a wolfish grin.

“Hello, salty goodness,” he greeted, predictably.

The Doctor pulled himself to a halt, standing at one end of the room and staring suspiciously at the unknown man in his flat. “Jack Harkness,” River introduced with some amusement, “meet the Doctor. Doctor, this is Jack Harkness, procurer of invaluable things.”

“I prefer entrepreneur in imports and exports,” Jack added, then stood, smiling at the Doctor with his best smile – which, admittedly, was rather charming. She’d almost succumbed to it a few times herself, before they’d realized that shameless flirts or not, Jack Harkness and River Song were best suited to a partnership in crime rather than one in the bedroom.

“What is it that you import/export?” the Doctor asked, suspiciously.

“I provide people like River with the things they  _need_  to do the things they  _do_. On occasion, I even get my hands dirty if she asks nice enough.” He stopped, staring at the Doctor. “River never said, but it’s obvious by the cut of the suit. British Intelligence?”

She could tell the Doctor hated being that obvious because he pulled a face and shuffled to the other end of the room. Jack merely smirked back, and went over to offer the other man a drink from his own liquor cabinet. 

“I don’t drink,” the Doctor stated.

Jack raised an eyebrow, then downed the offered drink himself with one gulp. “You’re a man of many surprises.”

“So they tell me.”

“Oh, but I do love an enigma,” Jack said, practically in a purr, then laughed when the Doctor flushed a little.

River almost laughed along; she couldn’t blame Jack in the slightest. The suit in particular made the Doctor seem like walking sex, but she suspected by the way the Doctor had been watching  _her_  all night long that Jack was barking up the wrong tree. 

She could be wrong, though; wouldn’t be the first time. 

Jack paused, though, studying the Doctor before he pursed his lips. “Don’t tell me: Double-O status?”

“0011,” he answered, a bit tartly. “But no one calls me by that moniker. I go by the Doctor.”

“Doctor who?” Jack asked.

“Just the Doctor,” came the predictable answer.

Jack stared across the room at River, the amusement draining from his face ever so slightly as they shared a significant look, one not meant for the Doctor’s eyes. She averted her gaze, silently cursing Jack’s ability to see right through her, and swept passed both men without making any sort of eye-contact. 

“Double-O,” Jack mused behind her, softly, pointedly. “Should have known you’d like the mystery.”

River swept a brush of hair out of her eyes, too nervously for her tastes but the urge was hard to control. She mentally willed Jack to drop the thread. The last thing she needed was any sort of reminder of 0010, and all the messy, complicated issues packed therein. The grief – it always made her messy. She needed to keep on task, and more importantly, she didn’t want the Doctor getting a sniff of her prior dealings with other MI6 agents. 

It’d… complicate things, and things were already complicated enough.

“We need blueprints,” she said to Jack, getting them back on track. “Can you manage what I asked?”

Jack studied her for a beat, then smiled. “In the ten years I’ve known you, when have I not?” He quickly held up a hand. “And before you say it, that time with Belgravia doesn’t count!”

“Wait, hang on. Blueprints?” the Doctor cut in. “Blueprints to what?”

River turned to him, rested back against the cushioned couch, and smiled. “What say you to a little breaking and entering? For Queen and Country, of course.”

“Where?  _Here?_  What’s so important in Rio?”

“You really didn’t think I was in Rio for a charity ball, did you?”

* * *

The Silence controlled a number of fortune 500 companies, even ruled – if rumors were true, and River suspected they were – the thrones of a few smaller countries. But their biggest hand nearby was actually the main corporate tower for Mycroft Industries, the largest defense-contract company in the region. The tower was at the west end of Rio, heavily defended with armed guards and employed state of the art security. 

River wanted a peek at their secrets, desperately. “We get in and download a file called  _Raven’s Nest._  My intelligence tells me it has something to do with the Crown Jewels.”

“Mycroft is an R&D company,” the Doctor said. “What does that have to do with the Crown Jewels?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out, sweetie.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Jack mused, sighing, coming to stand beside her as he pulled up the blueprints across the touch-table computer screen they had gathered around. The Doctor’s accommodations came equipped with an array of nifty gadgets, all high-tech and sleek. Jack enlarged the schematics on the screen and pointed to a few security measures that were troubling. “Video surveillance is most heavy here, here and  _here_ ,” he pointed, “But practically every square inch of the building is covered. We’ll need to break into their feeds. Plus, biometric sensors in the upper levels, and in the mainframe area, during lockdown and off-hours, it’s off-limits with infra-red motion detectors and a sophisticated invisible laser grid. Which means it’d actually be easier breaking in during working hours.”

River gave an appreciative whistle. “This is becoming fun.”

The Doctor’s mouth twitched upwards, almost a smile, though he did an admirable job of trying to suppress it. “What about using the front door?” he asked. “Seems simpler than breaking in.”

“Not the way that I usually do it,” River teased, “But yes, I think I see your point. Access to the mainframe, which is where we’ll get our  _Raven’s Nest_  file, is limited only to a handful of people. Five, actually.”

“We need to steal one of their identities to get in,” the Doctor supplied.

“Possible,” she granted. “Except it’s going to be difficult. Only five candidates. The CEO and Vice of the company are two, but they’re both out of town. Two lab techs who have access to the area, but not the authority to access the mainframe, so they’re not much use to us. Which leaves us really only with one option. Dr. Frederick Weinheimer, the lead scientist in charge of the R&D division. His access is absolute, but he never leaves the lab, it seems.” 

Jack pulled up the file on him, spreading his photo and personal data across the screen. “He’s a scrawny guy, shorter than any of us. I don’t know how we’re going to impersonate him.”

The Doctor’s lips stretched into a knowing smile. “Don’t worry about that. I think I know of a man that could pull it off.”

River suspected one of the team members that the Doctor had called in. She glanced at her watch, calculating they had another two hours or so before his team checked in, then studied the blueprints once more. 

She locked onto the Doctor with a challenging look. “Well, then, Doctor, let’s figure out how we’re going to pull off a heist.”

“Oh,” he played along, laughing. “I knew you’d be an interesting first date.”

It took a team effort to figure out the best way to break into the most secure facility in all of Rio. It wasn’t impossible, but it was proving slightly more difficult than River had anticipated because Dr. Weinheimer never left the lab, which meant they’d have to first break into the Tower, then forge his identity and duplicate his fingertips and retina scans on-site,  _then_  infiltrate the mainframe to download the  _Raven’s Nest_  file. All that, probably as the workday kicked into high gear, which meant there would be plenty of civilians milling about the building.

Still, resources weren’t low. The Doctor had already revealed several hidden panels in the flat, which housed everything she’d need for one of her break-ins, including harnesses and rig-gear, pinhole wireless cameras, GPS trackers, secure radios, night-vision goggles, and a mobile phone that could perform virtually any task she gave it. He was a little possessive about that nifty little sonic screwdriver, though. Sadly.

Plus, there was the device they’d use to duplicate a realistic latex face-mask of Weinheimer. She rather liked that contraption. 

By the time they’d figured out everyone’s role, the last two members of this little escapade finally arrived. Rory Williams and Amy Pond came waltzing in through the front door with matching bags of luggage and the latter with a distinct scowl. “Oi, Doctor,” the girl called out, glowering. “You cut short our  _honeymoon_!”

The Doctor turned around, laughing a little high-pitched as he took in the threatening glare of the girl. Amy Pond was young and a stunning ginger, but if the look on her face was anything to go by, River suspected she wasn’t one to triffle with. Her husband, on the other hand, look unassuming and even  _slight_ , almost bookish. They made quite the couple, standing there in tourist clothes, jetlagged.

“Ponds!” the Doctor greeted, affectionately, though he was eyeing Amy’s scowl with a little nervousness. “It’s been too long!”

“It’s been a week and a half,” Amy countered. “It was supposed to be three weeks, but it was cut short because you interrupted my  _honeymoon_!”

“ _Our_  honeymoon,” Rory cut in, weakly. "Amy—”

“Either yell along or keep quiet,” Amy warned her husband, then approached the Doctor in three long strides. “You. Do. Not. Interrupt. Honeymoons! It is offensive, and wrong, and you owe us a trip after this is all done.”

“What?” the Doctor tried to defend himself. “I am giving you a trip! To Rio! Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Amy poked him in the chest. “We’re here for work. But as soon as this is over?”

The Doctor deflated. “I’ll take you two somewhere nice.”

Behind them, Rory pointed a finger in the air. “Actually, if it’s all the same to you, Doctor, I rather accompany my wife on my honeymoon  _alone._ ”

The Doctor rolled his eyes and nodded. “Fine. Fine! Everybody just continue on with the unreasonable demands!”

Jack took the opportunity of this distracting reunion to pull River aside. Before she could protest, he'd marched them to one end of the flat while the Doctor and his companions seemed to be catching up, and by the look on Jack’s face, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant interlude. She reined in a sigh, knowing this had been coming all morning. 

When he pulled her into a spare bedroom, he shut the door behind them, and turned to face her. “Hi,” he greeted, like they hadn’t been talking all day. Though given the Doctor had been chaperoning them the entire time, it truly was the first moment they’d had to themselves. “River Song, have you gone completely insane?”

“Well, what definition of insanity are we going by—”

“MI6?” he said, harshly. “What is it with you and Double-O agents?”

She flinched like she’d been slapped across the face. “That was uncalled for,” she said, lowly.

In his defense, Jack seemed to realize this and his shoulders dropped, relenting a bit. Some of the steam of his anger seemed to deflate, but the intensity in his eyes remained strong. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“Doing what?” River challenged. “Going after the organization that took  _everything_  from me?”

Jack sighed. “You’re going to kill yourself with this vendetta.”

“It’s my life, Jack. I’ll do with it what I see fit.” 

“Forgive me if I show some concern—”

“Concern is one thing,” River cut in. “Don’t tell me how to live my life.”

He made an agitated noise in the back of his throat, like he could sense where this conversation was headed and, frustrated, tried to quickly redirect. “John wouldn’t have wanted this, y’know? He was never a man of violence, even if his job required it. He wouldn’t have wanted you to risk your life—”

“Well, John’s dead,” River said to him, a little tightly. “He’s dead, and I’m close – so  _close_  – to finding the people responsible for it. I can’t stop now. I won’t.”

There was a knock at the door, and she realized her voice had risen too high in the heated argument. Shutting her eyes against a wave of mortification, she looked to the door, when the Doctor called out, “Everything all right in there?” 

“Fine,” River answered, quickly.

She threw Jack one last glare and marched back over to the door. She pulled it open to reveal the Doctor leaning casually against the doorframe, eyes hooded under his bangs. He looked up, a face of intrigue – and she wondered what he’d overheard as much as she hated that the fact that he’d overheard anything at all.

He glanced over her shoulder at Jack, studying for a beat. Behind the Doctor, both Amy and Rory were in the hallway watching the scene unfold, but River, it seemed, only had eyes for the Doctor because she could sense the retrained curiosity just bursting from his seams. 

“Who’s John?” he asked her, pointblank.

River felt blood drain from her face. She played over the conversation she’d had with Jack in her head, wondering if he could piece together much of anything. They’d mentioned John, but only his first name – and even then, there were a million John Smiths in the world. There was no connecting him to the late 0010, the Doctor’s own predecessor; the MI6’s agent who died six years ago, and had galvanized her into hunting down the people responsible for more atrocities than she could name.

John Smith, her late fiancé.

“Nobody,” River answered him, stiffly. “Now, come along. We’ve got things to steal.”

She attempted to brush passed him without another word, but he stopped her with a hand on her forearm. The grip was tight, but his eyes implored her with a touch more finesse. "Stop lying to me, River. If you want me to trust you, you have to stop lying to me."

If only things were as simple as that.


	4. Chapter 4

The mood had shifted dramatically. 

It was late afternoon by the time they were finishing the final touches in the heist preparations. River and Amy were sitting at the kitchen table with an unrolled set of blueprints before them, mugs of cooling tea holding down the corners. Rory and Jack were using the computers to research the best way of hacking into the surveillance feed of the Mycroft Tower. And the Doctor should have been prepping for his own work; should’ve, but he wasn’t. 

He couldn’t help but study River as the final decisions were being hammered out, and it was like watching a different beast altogether. Gone was the untroubled woman he had been flirting with thus far, because there was an extra intensity behind her movements now. When she looked to him, the teasing aura was strained by some secret he could see eating away at her. The mere mention of this John fellow had struck a nerve, and he’d gathered enough from what he’d overheard that John was deceased, most likely murdered by the Silence. He had obviously been someone important to her – a lover, probably.

There was an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach now. He couldn’t define it, but he didn’t like it either. 

He hated not knowing things.

Rory and Jack both looked up when he approached them. “How’re things going?”

“Should be good to go in five minutes,” Rory answered. 

Jack added, “I’m getting the latex face-mask of Weinheimer finished and painted in flesh-tones in the car-ride over.” He paused, a little ambivalent as he eyed Rory up for the job. “Dr. Weinheimer grew up in Germany for the first twenty years of his life, and Rory assures me he can imitate the accent without problem.”

The Doctor slapped a hand over Rory’s shoulders, causing the younger man to stumble a bit. “Rory’s our man. Rory can imitate anything, can’t you, Rory? Tell Jack here about the first time you met Amy, impersonating an Italian man. Mr. Mc-Hotiness.” 

“Please never call me that again,” Rory implored. 

“Amy started it.”

“She did not,” Rory argued, knowingly. “And even if she did, she has that right as my wife.”

“Blimey, Rory. You didn’t even make it passed the honeymoon and you’re already whipped.”

Rory rolled his eyes, just as he heard Amy’s laugh from across the room, and all three men turned to watch as River said something back and both women dissolved into laughter. The men eyed the women, a little fearfully. Amy and River had apparently bonded quickly, and that – well, that was just a dangerous thing, as far as the Doctor was concerned. 

He took a step towards them, when Jack stopped him, “Doctor, not now. Leave her be.”

Which  _her_  that he was referring to was undeniable.

He knew he should leave well-enough alone, knowing that these last few minutes before an op weren’t ideal for picking arguments. River had managed to evade all his questions just as easily as she had brushed off his concerns, like they were mere  _trivialities._  It’d be an exercise in futility, and the Doctor knew if he wanted real answers, he wouldn't get them by asking nicely.

Besides, the women were engrossed in their work (or supposed to be, anyway), even though the Doctor never quite understood the level of meticulous detail that went into planning something; he had always favored using his cleverness and spontaneity to get any job done. The appeal of hanging upside down off a hundred story building, or planning a route to evade night security-guards, or doing any number of the other dozen things required of a crafty thief – well, it had always seemed like work best left to others in his field. (He had a thing about heights, and stealth – in that he hated the former and was particularly noisy at the latter. Clumsy, his former partners had mocked on occasion.) Give him a plan, and nine times out of ten, he’d screw it up somehow. Of course, he also had the habit of coming up with new ones at the spur of the moment.

So, for the last two years, anytime there was a job that required this sort of planning, he’d left the thievery parts up to Amy. She was fast acquiring skills that could one day possibly even rival a reputation like that of River’s, but she was still young and it showed, too; as soon as Amy found out who River was, it was bit like she’d just met a rockstar. 

“Oh, bloody brilliant,” Amy breathed, just loud enough for the Doctor to overhear. “The Museum of London heist in ’06 was you, too? Tell me something, how did you manage to get passed the guards near the front entrance without anyone noticing? There were rumors that you used hallucinogenic lipstick, or something  _outrageous_ like that.”

“Nothing outrageous about it, honey. It’s quite effective, and works on the best of men. Just ask the Doctor.”

At which point, he’d abruptly turned, grabbed a PDA off the workbench nearby and tried to appear deeply engaged in his own work; the other two men followed his examples, Rory pointing to something random on his computer monitor and Jack nodding along like it was the most fascinating piece of intel ever. River had, indeed, suckered him into a hallucinogenic kiss within five minutes of their introduction, but the Doctor might’ve gotten out of Amy’s teasing with some dignity intact if River hadn’t taken that precise moment to point out that he was holding his PDA upside down. 

Amy, of course, looked like she was holding in giggles at his expense. 

The Doctor went flustered all over, and decided to take charge again. “All right, planning stages are over, I can see. Let’s pack up and move.”

“Yes, but change of plans,” River said. “Amy will be handling the intercept. She can pick Dr. Weinheimer off, and then Rory can enter the facility, impersonate him, and then download the  _Raven’s Nest_  file.”

“I thought we agreed that you’d handle the intercept,” the Doctor countered.

“Change of plans,” River returned, smiling. “Amy seems more than capable, and it’s not everyday I get to see another cat-burglar in work. She can even use my hallucinogenic lipstick.” 

“No, wait, hang on—” Rory began.

“Oh shut up,” Amy cut in, before he could start. “It’s not everyday I have River Bloody Song giving me pointers. Let me enjoy this!”

River laughed, looking over at the younger woman with fondness, and it was a little disconcerting how quickly the two girls had bonded. And, in the Doctor’s opinion, a little suspicious as well.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” River said in exasperation, reading his look. “Honestly, you’d find sinister meaning behind me tying my shoe! I’m just offering a coaching lesson. I’ll be on the coms the entire time, and if anything goes wrong, I’ll be back-up in two seconds flat.”

“Oh, can we?” Amy asked the Doctor eagerly, like a child the night before Christmas asking to open a present early. “Please, Doctor, can we?”

“Your operation,” River added in a consoling voice, shrugging. “We’ll do anything you decide.”

He looked to River, then Amy, then back to River again, and sighed.

* * *

Over the earpiece, River listened as Amy announced she was already through the front door of the Tower, just as scripted. The plan was for her to intercept Dr. Weinheimer in the cafeteria, then put Rory into play. There was the utmost confidence in the young married couple; River had already done her homework on the Doctor’s known associates, and she knew exactly what his team members were capable of. They were, indeed, some of the best. And outside, huddled in a black van, Jack was offering tech support – video surveillance had been hacked in and taken over, motion sensors deactivated, laser grid disarmed, and the Doctor had already duplicated the retina scan and fingertips of Weinheimer using his nifty little sonic screwdriver; Amy and Rory would be able to retrieve the  _Raven’s Nest_  file with no problem, hopefully. 

Now, for the  _real_  reason River wanted into the Mycroft Tower.

She dropped down from her rig, hanging upside down in midair in the elevator shaft, and swept a searching gaze about her surroundings. She pulled a small handheld device free from her black body-suit, and aimed the beam towards the sensors, deactivating the network with a click. A second later, she swung from her harness and pried open a elevator door to the b7th floor. Once on ground again, she moved with a quick grace.

The  _Raven’s Nest_  file was important, but it wasn’t her number one priority for this operation. She felt a little guilty about lying about her true intentions to everyone, but she owed neither the Doctor or Jack any explanation of what she was doing, and Amy and Rory would be able to get away cleanly without trouble in just another handful of minutes. In the end, her little omission would harm no one. The danger, if there was to be any, would only be limited to one person: herself. And River Song had no problems with that, whatsoever.

Deep in the underbelly of the tower, below ground, the building was more than just a research center. The basement floor held the parking garage, but the facility actually extended another seven levels below that, and each level was more restricted than the last. Each level held more secrets and damning evidence; today, though, River didn’t care about any of that. Level b7 held something far more precious.

She crept down the hallway, looking left to right, making sure the coast was clear—

“What is it you’re looking for?”

River froze, caught off-guard – and she was  _never_  caught off-guard. It was a matter of professional pride. With a restrained sigh, she straightened, turned around, and found the Doctor standing at the end of the hallway that she had just come from. Unlike her, he wasn’t trying to be stealthy about his entrance in the least – no harness down the elevator shaft, no black bodysuit, no effort made whatsoever to creep along the high-security facility at all. He stood dead-center in the hallway, dressed in a pristine Armani suit that was entirely out of place with the scientists and soldiers that worked on this floor. Hands in his pockets, a smirk of his face, he could have been taking a damn stroll through the park.

“River Song,” he greeted. “You’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

She pulled him into the shadows quickly, a little infuriated, insulted, and despite herself, impressed. How the bloody hell had he made it down here? She’d taken the only non-authorized access point to B7, and he obviously hadn’t gotten in through the authorized way.

“How did you get down here?”

“I think I’ll be asking the questions now. Though it hardly ever does me any good, does it? Just give me the run around like a professional athlete trained in lying; the gold for dishonesty in this year’s winter Olympics goes to Miss River Song. If that is indeed your real name.”

To a casual observer, the Doctor may have looked annoyed or exasperated, but River could sense the oncoming storm.

“Says the man that calls himself the Doctor,” she remarked, throwing a glance around their surroundings. Everything was still quiet. “Yes, my name is River Song, and come off your high horse. You’re a spy. It’s in your job description to lie to people.”

“I haven’t gotten on the high horse yet, but I do think I have the right to be a little bit insulted by the fact that I was lied to this entire time.”

Her defenses went up, angered by the fact that she was being lectured by a MI6 agent of all people on the subject of honesty. MI6 trained their agents to lie with every breath. It was their number one rule, and they were a dangerous sort of liars, because they did it for Queen and Country and thought it justified any means they implemented. She may have been madly in love with 0010, but she knew his faults just as much as she admired his attributes. 

It was stupid to have this conversation in the hallway of such a high-risk op, but she couldn’t help herself – and apparently neither could he. 

“Have you ever apologized to the people you’ve used along the way? The Doctor. I researched you, remember? Your list of accomplishments runs nearly as long as the list of causalities that lies in your wake.” 

 _That_  got an immediate reaction out of him because the next thing she knew, he’d pushed her up against the wall and she found herself trapped by his body. “I’m done playing games, River. My people are in this building because of you, and I swear to it, if anything happens to them—”

“Amy and Rory will be fine if they stick to the script,” River interrupted.

She’d done what she’d had to do to get here – strung him along with lies, yes, and she’d do it again, but she had never played with the lives of any bystanders. That wasn’t her game, and it never had been. 

"And what's to stop me from blowing your op right now?" the Doctor threatened. "Whatever you're after, I can make sure you never get it by simply triggering the alarm, leaving you here for-"

She broke his hold by grabbing his wrist and twisting. He rebounded swiftly by twisting her elbow and she sidestepped and crouched, using her agility to break free. She stuck out her foot, snagging him by the ankle and he tripped. He responded with an open palm thrust into her chest that pushed her back against the wall again. 

“What are you after?” the Doctor demanded.

She jetted her jaw, eyes boring straight ahead, pitting them in a heated confrontation as they both circled around each other like sharks; she was unafraid of the recrimination that was etched in hard lines across his face. She thought briefly about lying again, but she also quickly realized there would be no point to it. He was here; he would know soon enough. It hadn’t been part of her plan to involve him in this part, but there was no choice now. She might have come up with something - weaving lies came as naturally to River Song as breathing, but she didn’t have the time to construct the story; especially not when the truth would cut through all the suspicion far more easily than anything she could make up. 

It made sense to tell the truth, but she’d been carrying this secret with her for so long, it almost hurt to part from it.

“Not what,” she corrected, and she hated the way her voice went soft, but it was beyond her control. “But  _who._  Somewhere on this floor is a scared six-year-old girl named Melody. I’m here to get her out.”

The sheer shock value of mentioning a child broke through the cold mask that had fallen across his features. “A girl? What does Mycroft Industries want with a little girl?”

“Not Mycroft,” River corrected. “The Silence.”

“And,” he asked in confusion, suspiciously, “who is she?”

She glanced away, taking a moment to brace herself. “You see, Doctor, if you expect me to apologize about any lies I’ve told you, you shouldn’t hold your breath. You’re not dealing with a thief, or a liar, or even a murderer. Oh, no. In me, you’re dealing with something far more dangerous than that.”

He studied her for a beat, his eyes softening as he made various connections in his head. He finally relented, stepping back. “A mother,” he said in slow realization. “She’s your daughter, isn’t she?”

River managed a nod. “Yes, she is.”

And then, suddenly, gunfire broke out.


	5. Chapter 5

  
The Doctor awoke to an electrified headache running up and down his optic nerve, slamming into the region behind his left eye. With a groan, he attempted to push himself upright, but a rustle of chain and a familiar feminine voice disabused him of that notion, gently lulling him back down. He realized that his head was cradled in someone’s lap, and there was only one guess as to whose lap.

“Hello, sweetie,” River greeted him. “I wouldn’t move too fast if I were you, or you’ll end up spilling this morning’s breakfast all over the floor. The tranqs they used on us have such a nasty hangover, without any of the fun that should precede it.”

He grunted, daring to peer his eyes open to observe the hopelessness of the situation. They were imprisoned in some type of dark room, industrial and filled with various machines. To his embarrassment, he was indeed using River’s lap as his own personal pillow, and what was even more disconcerting, they seemed to have been handcuffed together, his right arm to her left. His other arm was handcuffed to a lead pipe that ran up along the wall. It created an awkward situation, full of promising innuendos if he put his mind to it, but he was feeling too sick to comment. With a rattle of metal, and a brief rearrangement and adjustment so they could sit side-by-side against the back wall, the Doctor took stock of the situation. 

“Tranquilizers?” he mused with a frown. “How embarrassing.”

“Agreed,” River said lightly, then pointed out, “Though it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t distracted me like that.”

“Women tend to find me distracting all the time.”

“Not in the way you’d hope,” River told him.

“Don’t know about that,” the Doctor argued, flashing her a knowing look. “Depends on what I’m hoping for.”

To her credit, she merely stared back with a smirk on her lips, entirely entertained. Despite the rude awakening and that he suffered no delusions about River’s own responsibility in the makings of this situation, they had fallen back into old patterns. There was no animosity in the exchange. In light of the fact that they had been captured, River was willing to let the intense antagonism of their prior discussion lie awkwardly unmentioned, like an elephant in the room wearing a pink tutu. The Doctor was more than willing to play along. They had a greater enemy at their throats.

Besides, remembering mentions of Melody, he knew the mere possibility of a child being harmed changed the rules of the game; it was one of his weaknesses, perhaps his biggest. He never had been able to handle a child crying, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t complicated more than one mission because he’d allowed the involvement of a child to affect his decision-making. As much as he hated being used by River this entire time, he wasn’t one to begrudge a few lies for the safety of a child – especially if it was indeed her own offspring.

“Melody,” he said softly, and even in the darkness with the whirl of working machinery around them, echoing off the concrete walls, he felt her stiffen. “How old did you say she was?”

After a pause, River answered, reluctantly, “Six.”

He thought back to her file, realizing that at that age, River must have given birth shortly before being sentenced to her lifetime imprisonment. There had been no records of a pregnancy with the prison files; in fact, now that he thought about it, there had been no medical files whatsoever in her dossier. He should’ve picked up on the omission, but he hadn’t – sloppy of him, in retrospect.

“Why do they want your child?” he asked River.

He felt her sigh, a heavy agitation making itself known as she fidgeting about, tugging his chained hands a bit as her arms restlessly moved. “Experimentation,” River said simply. “Beyond that, I don’t know. The last time I saw her, she was tiny enough for me to hold with one hand. I gave her away with the hopes that no one would be able to make the connections between her and a convicted felon like myself. I didn’t realize at the time that the Silence would get their hands on her.”

There was much more to the story that River was willing to tell, but he knew now wasn’t the time. He needed to regroup, refocus, and then he could make heads or tails of the enigma that was River Song. Right now, the blinding headache behind his right eye was making it hard to focus on anything else, but they needed to get out. 

He checked his ear to find his earbud missing, probably taken when the guards had dragged them into this place. Amy and Rory were on their own, but they would notice he’d gone off-grid. He squelched the thought and searched around. The room was full of machinery, which was damned stupid of them to do because the Doctor had a habit of using that sort of thing to his advantage – but everything was out of reach. One hand cuffed to a lead pipe, and the other to River Song, he was trapped between a rock and a hard place, and there was no sonic screwdriver to help him sort things out. 

“I’m sorry,” River said suddenly, out of the blue.

The Doctor blinked, swiveling his head back to her, certain he had heard wrong. “What was that?”

River sighed, and offered him a smile. It wasn’t flirtatious, or whimsical, or even that insufferable all-knowing one she had the habit of giving him. This one, in fact, was as much sheepish as it was genuine. “I’m sorry I got you into this situation, Doctor. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.”

“I thought you weren’t one to apologize for that sort of thing? Distinctly remember you telling me not to hold me breath waiting on it, and that’s something I don’t regularly do anyway – holding my breath. There’s never any point to it unless it’s a matter of life or death which involves an awkwardly high amount of water.”

The memory of their confrontation from earlier in the corridor brought about a flinch. “I was angry,” River admitted. “Still am, a bit, to be honest. This is the closest I’ve gotten to getting my daughter back since the day they took her from my arms. It isn’t your fault, though. There’s only one person to blame for this.”

He studied her for a beat. “Who?”

“Me,” another voice shot out, feminine and unforgiving. The Doctor turned to the side, where a woman dressed in black stayed just beyond the corridor light, hidden in the shadows. When she stepped forward, he instantly recognized her as Madame Kovorian, the leader of the Silence and the public figure behind Mycroft Industries. “River Song,” she greeted affectionately, a mockery of an intimate reunion. “We had ourselves a deal. If you wanted your daughter back, you only needed to steal the Crown Jewels and give it to us. But you couldn’t even manage that.”

River shot up, then jerked to a halt when the chains stopped her. She struggled anyway, stretching out his arm and the metal between them as far as it would go. “I would  _never_  work for you. And if you ever want those Crown Jewels, then you free my daughter right this instant, or I swear to god there will be no dark corner in all the universe where you could hide. I’ll hunt you down and make you  _beg_  for mercy.”

Kovorian didn’t look daunted in the least. “No doubt you’d try. I’ve checked your records. We’ve all heard the stories, and now look at what you’ve become. River Song, the woman who’s vowed vengeance.”

“Nice alliteration,” the Doctor commented.

Kovorian turned a sharp heel towards him, measuring him once with a glance up and down, before she gave a cold smile. “And the Doctor. 0011. What are you doing with a woman like River Song? She doesn’t care about anything or anyone, except her daughter. Run with her for any length, and don’t you know? She’ll be the death of you.”

The Doctor offered a nasty smile in return. “Take my chances, thanks. Love a good run, Miss Kovorian.”

“ _Madam,_ ” Kovorian corrected.

“Oh?” His eyebrows rose heavenward. “My apologies.”

“Where is my daughter?” River demanded.

Kovorian paused for a second, not a flicker of emotion registering on her face as the silence fell. She was an older woman, hair meticulously in place, a simple black suit and modest high heels – the type of woman that could command attention without effort. Decades of British intelligence gathering on this woman had come up with effectively  _useless_  data and bumbling conjecture. No one had any idea what Kovorian wanted, or what she was ultimately after. And now there was some use she had of a child, and the Crown Jewels. The Doctor couldn’t make the connections, and normally he made leaps of deductions as easily as he took breaths. 

Finally, she turned to one of her minions in the back. “Bring the girl in,” she instructed.

He felt River sag a little beside him, all fight going out of her with a single breath as she braced herself for something else. A moment later, a guard escorted a slight girl into the room, and River sucked in a gasp. Melody was small and rail thin, really more of a wisp of a thing. Unkempt black hair, long until it reached her back, covered half her face in a tangle of strands. She kept her eyes on the floor ahead of her, hands folded in front. Scared, defenseless – neglected.

Anger burned through the Doctor, swift and possessive.

“Melody,” River tried, finally gaining use of her voice. It was soft, and desperate, searching for something like recognition from the little girl – though she’d already confessed to him that there was unlikely any recognition to be had. “Please, sweetheart, look at me.”

Melody paused for a beat, turning first to Kovorian at her side, like she was awaiting permission. “It’s all right, Melody,” Kovorian said, in a cruel voice. “I want this woman to see your face. I want her to have this one fleeting moment before I rip it all away.”

A whole flashflood of anger coursed through the Doctor’s veins, at seeing the girl so obedient and fearful, like she had been trained; at how much Kovorian had taken away from both mother and daughter. He wondered if Melody had any clue to what was going on – but how could she? With a blank stare, she turned to face River fully, and the woman handcuffed to him – this impossible woman who he’d seen deck out men and smile seductively in the face of danger – this woman broke out into a sob.

“Melody,” River said, brokenly. “I’m your mother.”

Melody just stared, blankly.

Kovorian smiled, stepping forward. “Melody has no mother. She is the perfect weapon for our organization, the perfect blank slate. We will make of her what we desire, and she will be  _amazing._  But, you, River Song – unless you tell me where you’ve hidden the Crown Jewels, you will never have a chance to see any of that. I will end you right here and now, and you will die knowing there was nothing you could do to protect your own flesh and blood.”

River’s spine straightened, and she spat out, “Go to hell, Kovorian.”

Kovorian’s smile stayed affixed, but he could tell it was strained nonetheless. “Guards, take Melody away. Load her into the copter, and take her to our secondary secure location. Do it quickly. I want her up in the air in less than ten.”

The guards didn’t need to be told twice. The Doctor watched as two stepped forward, flanking Melody on either side, and then escorted the little girl out of the room. River called out, a desperate plea of a mother, but the little girl only gave one last fleeting look of confusion towards River before she left. The silence that fell afterwards was choking and loud, and Kovorian looked amused at the devastated expression on River’s face. 

“Tell us what we want,” Kovorian demanded, “and perhaps I’ll show you mercy.”

River squared her shoulders, squared her jaw, squared damn near every corner-edge of her body. “Check your records again, Kovorian. In the decades that I’ve done my job, when have I ever failed to achieve my goal? That’s why your people approached me in jail, because even imprisoned, you knew I was capable of doing things that your people couldn’t.”

“I never underestimate the lengths that a mother will go to in order to protect her child,” Kovorian agreed. “But the game has ended. You’ve lost. Now all that remains is the amount of pain you want to endure before I decide to end your life. Quick and easy, or slow and hard? Your choice. It doesn’t have to be painful.”

“Oh, yes,” River countered, firmly. “It does, because I assure you, Madame Kovorian, when I kill you, it won’t be quick or easy. It  _will_  be painful.”

The two women stared off at each other, matching glare for glare, and neither blinking.

“Well,” he broke the stalemate, loudly, with a barking laugh. He clapped his hands together, jerking River’s chained arms with his, and giddily said, “I hate to interrupt this staring contest – my money would’ve been on River, FYI – but it seems we’re on a bit of a timetable and I wanted to make sure that we’re all safely away before things go  _kablooy_. Well, I say  _we_ , but I really could just mean me and River. Not that you aren’t a splendid villain with great presence, Miss Kovorian—”

“Madam,” she corrected, automatically.

“—but you see, I take offense to the idea of children being hurt. Not very clever of you, and I do prefer the clever villains. So tell you what? I’ll talk very slow, though not too slowly as I mentioned that whole  _kablooy_  thing already, didn’t I?”

“What are you blabbering on about?” Kovorian demanded, annoyed.

“A bomb,” the Doctor answered. “A big bomb. Bomb go boom. Bomb go boom if you don’t let us go immediately.”

Kovorian stared, and even River was staring at him with a slack jaw. “You’re bluffing,” Kovorian accused.

“I never bluff,” the Doctor countered. “You think I just walked in here without an escape plan if we got captured? I have back-up plans. I have back-up plans to my back-up plans, all the way from Plans A through F. Except E. Never liked the letter  _E_  much, always leave it out when I can.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then you’re going to be very shocked in twelve minutes when this building explodes. I’d say I told you so, but we’d all be smithereens. I failed to check-in with my teammates ten minutes ago. According to protocol, they’ll be setting charges all along precision points of the building, and rigging the C4 to go off at precisely ten minutes after the hour, which is—” he glanced at his watch, “twelve, no wait. Sorry. Eleven minutes from now.” He offered Kovorian a smile. “Eleven, my favorite number.”

“Really?” Kovorian said, then gestured for one of her guards to come forward. They whispered to one another for a beat, exchanging some information of some sort. He suspected that Kovorian was getting an update on any security breaches, and he knew Amy and Rory well enough to know they’d probably taken out half the guards by now.

River edged closer to her, dropping her voice to a whisper, “You never mentioned anything about this before.”

“What?” he retaliated with a shrug. “You’re the only one allowed to lie?”

“Oh, Doctor,” Kovorian said. “Never play chicken with me; you’ll never win.”

He stared, coolly. 

Kovorian smiled. “Go ahead. Blow the building up. Even if I did believe you planned this – and I don’t – and even if your teammates were capable of getting passed our guards – which they’re not – I don’t respond to threats lightly. In fact, you’ve given me a brilliant idea.” She turned to the guards. “Set the self-destruct on the building for– what time did you give? Eleven minutes left? Well, then, set the self-destruct for eight minutes.”

The Doctor stared.

“More than enough time for me to get out,” Kovorian spoke up, when he hadn’t. 

“You can’t evacuate the building that fast,” River pointed out.

Kovorian shrugged. “Who needs to? Let them all die, every one of them. I don’t care about the personnel here.” She turned back to her guard. “Do it.  _Now._ ”

The guard paused, then nodded quickly and left without a word.

“Wait!” River screamed. “You still haven’t found out where I hid the Crown Jewels.”

Kovorian shrugged again. “I’ll figure it out. I’m clever like that.”

She left without another word, with an entourage of guards dressed in pristine suits behind her. The Doctor glanced at his watch, setting the timer to eight minutes out. The self-destruct mechanism on the building would likely take out the entire building, especially the sub-basement facilities. A few seconds went by without remark as he frantically thought over his options. 

“You know how you mentioned your back up plans?” River said, feigning a light tone. “A through F?”

“Except E,” the Doctor pointed out.

“Please tell me that wasn’t all a bluff.”

“Every last bit of it,” the Doctor confirmed, making a face. “I figured I’d give it a go-ahead. What’s the worse that could happen?”

River’s face clouded with a darkness, the details of their worst case scenario all too apparent under the circumstances. He was too busy attempting to salvage some of his reputation by figuring a way out of there to offer any sort of apology, especially since he had only minutes to work with, but even then, the entire building would be full of people and–

River reached across and pulled a fire alarm from the wall nearby. A second later, the blare took up throughout the room, and probably the entire facility. She exchanged a look with him, not needing to clarify the reason. At least the personnel would have the opportunity to evacuate, though how many of them could manage to do it in less than eight – no, wait, seven – minutes was a question mark. He didn’t have time to think about that; he was still trapped in a room at least seven levels below the basement floor of a high-security facility, handcuffed to a felon and a mother, and he couldn’t figure out a way to get them out.

Not his finest hour, but he’d woken up in many different situations before and managed to get out; though this one was easily one of his least favorite predicaments – of course, using River as a pillow earlier hadn’t been  _that_  bad. Nor would the handcuffs be, under other circumstances. 

“You know how I apologized to you earlier about unduly risking your life?” River said. “I take it all back.”

Definitely other circumstances.

“Oh, pfft, River Song,” the Doctor assured, still searching about the room frantically. The bloody noisy alarm wasn’t helping his thought process either. “If I had a nickel for every time I was about to get blown up, and  _didn’t_ , I’d be a rich man.” 

“I’ve heard the stories,” River offered, with a slanted look. “Mind proving them right?”

The alarm continued to blare, and the Doctor’s flittering gaze eventually landed back on River. She was looking away, but even from behind he could see her tense shoulders and the stiff tension in her body. She must’ve felt his scrutiny, because she turned around, and her eyes belied her fear.

“Doctor,” she said, softly. “My daughter—”

“Will be fine,” he assured. “She had a head-start, and is probably already in the air. She won’t be caught in any sort of blast.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she confessed, and he knew exactly what she meant.

A young girl like that, and he could only imagine the horrors that Melody had lived through. Six years old, terrified into obedience, neglected and abused. Oh, he would tear down the entire Silence just for that alone, topple the infrastructure, take out Kovorian, dispatch every single one of her lackeys one by one if he had to – it was the most forgiving punishment he could think of for their offense.

River looked like her thoughts were running in another direction, though. Crestfallen. Defeated in these last moments. 

It was look that didn’t suit her  _at all._

“Hey,” he said, catching her by the shoulders. He turned her so that she faced him, and even with time ticking away, it was important that he had her attention for this. “You don’t know me very well yet, but you can trust me on this. She’ll be fine.”

“How can you promise that? We can’t even get out of a locked room. How is my child going to be protected?”

“On my life, she will be  _safe_ ,” he vowed, firmly. “You have my word on that, and I swear it, River Song, nothing will stop us from getting your daughter back to you, exactly where she belongs. Do you trust me on that?”

She stared at him, eyes watering, as seconds ticked down to what was assuredly their doom – but something about his expression must’ve gotten through, something must’ve showed her the strength of his resolve on the matter – because she nodded. “I do.”

“Good.” He took a breath. “Now, good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Bad. Always go with the bad first.”

“This little heart-to-heart cost us a precious minute.” He frowned. “We really could’ve picked a better time to do it.”

She nodded, agreeing even as she rolled her eyes. “Good news?”

“I wasn’t lying about one thing. I was supposed to check in with Amy and Rory fifteen minutes ago.”

“You think they’ll come looking for us? Or that they’ll even find us in this maze of a building?”

“Positive of it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“They’re standing right behind you,” the Doctor announced, gleefully, and pointed over River’s shoulder. Amy and Rory were quickly coming through the doorway, each with a thick duffle bag over their shoulder. “Ponds! It’s good to see you!”

“Yes, well,” Amy returned lightly. “Someone had to come and save your arse.”

“Nonsense, Pond. I took care of getting rid of all the guards for you. Evacuated away. The jar-lid was completely loosened for you.”

Rory began unfastening the chains, while Amy stopped before them with a lifted eyebrow. “Handcuffed together? Really, Doctor, I never knew you were so kinky.”

* * *

 _Tick tock goes the clock._

The Doctor hurried through the corridor with everyone else on his heels, turning the last corner that went towards the elevators. All things considered, they had only about four minutes to clear the building and that wasn’t even accounting for any resistance they’d reach up top. Luckily, the place had already emptied of guards. 

Rory managed to bypass him, and hit the buttons for each of the elevators frantically, practically bouncing.

“Time!”

“Three minutes, thirty-seven seconds!”

“Shit,” Amy declared. “Why doesn’t this place have stairs? We could take it in no time.”

“Security measures,” River declared. “The only way in or out of the sub-basement levels is through these three elevators. How did you two manage to get down here?”

“Repelled down,” Amy said, a bit smugly. “Like you, I imagine? Found your gear in the elevator shaft?”

“Oh, you’re good,” River remarked. “Very, very good.”

The Doctor had managed to sneak in by forging the identity of one of the authorized personnel and simply riding down the lift like a  _sane_  person, but no one seemed interested in asking him. He even still had the nametag and ID. Frowning, he had the feeling that maneuver wouldn’t impress River that much anyway, even though it’d prove priceless in just a moment. 

Rory was frantically pushing the buttons on all three elevators again. When the door to one of them finally pinged open, he practically bounced in.

“No! Wait—” the Doctor screamed, lunging for him.

It was too late. 

A split-second later a cage slammed down, trapping Rory inside the lift. Security measures. Obscene security measures. A person was automatically scanned on entry, and if found unauthorized, was immediately trapped inside the elevator until guards could come around.

Except, of course, in this particular situation, where it was effectively a death trap.

“Um, whoops,” Rory said, scratching behind his ear.

“Oi, you stupid face,” Amy said, rolling her eyes. “Hold on, we’ll get you out of there.”

River’s face went pale. “Amy—”

“Hold on,” Amy said, quickly digging in her bag. “I’ve got one of the Doctor’s spare sonic screwdrivers in here somewhere—” and the Doctor finally managed to catch up to the thought that had River sweating. “—and don’t worry, Doctor. I had full intentions of giving it back to you. Just borrowing it for situations like this.”

“Amy,” River finally managed, faintly. “That… there’s a problem.”

Amy stilled, then turned around. “What?”

“Only the authorized access code will release the cage, and we don’t know that,” River answered, in pained realization. 

Amy whirled to stare at the Doctor, looking for confirmation – or more likely a denial – and the Doctor didn’t have it in him to do either because he knew River was speaking the truth. He couldn’t lie to Amy, but he couldn’t manage the truth either. He snagged the sonic screwdriver out of Amy’s hands, and tried anyway, switching from one setting to the next. 

“I’ll get it to work,” the Doctor said, unable to look Amy in the eye. “I’ll figure it out.”

Rory glanced at his watch. “You’ve only got two and a half minutes left. You don’t have time to figure it out.”

“What?” Amy exclaimed, angrily. “Shut up! Of course we do. Doctor, work faster!”

But the Doctor fidgeted his way through one setting after another, knowing all of them to be useless. He glanced only once over his shoulder towards River to see her giving him a pained expression of understanding, and then he had to look away again, too aware of the fact that River knew how utterly hopeless this measure was. The tech on this elevator wasn’t susceptible to the same frequencies as his screwdriver. It wasn’t going to work. He glanced up, looked across the bars of the cage towards Rory, and the man was staring at him with dawning comprehension. 

Rory knew he was going to die, but the desperation that sprang up across his features wasn’t for himself.

It was for Amy.

The second elevator door pinged open. “River,” the Doctor managed, briskly, not even looking at her. “Get Amy out of here. Now.”

“What?” Amy demanded, then grew outraged. “No.”

 _“Yes,”_  the Doctor insisted, just as stubbornly. “I can’t work with both of you breathing down my neck. Rory and I will be along in a moment.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” 

“Yes, you are, Amelia Pond! Because I said so and your marriage does not take priority over my authority on an operation!”

“The hell it doesn’t!” Amy screamed back, practically spitting fire. “Bellow at me all you want, but there’s no  _way_  I am leaving here without my husband!”

“Yes, you are,” the Doctor demanded, getting right in her face, “Even if River has to drag you up. Isn’t that right, River? River?” 

Silence greeted him, and he looked away from Amy to realize that River had gone – left. 

“Where did she go?” Rory asked.

Amy looked around, and her face darkened when she found the second elevator had already pinged closed. “Where do you think? She’s left us!”

The declaration slammed into the Doctor with more force than it should have. She’d just  _abandoned_  them to squabble while the seconds ticked down on the bomb. A rush of shock swept through him, followed by the deep cut of betrayal and then burning anger. He had no idea why he felt so betrayed, given that River Song had proven herself untrustworthy time and time again. But it stung – surprisingly painful. 

“Whatever,” Amy snarled, refocusing. “We don’t have time for this. Get my husband out, Doctor!”

The third set of elevator doors pinged open.

Rory glanced to his watch again. “Less than two minutes left. If you leave now, you can just clear the building with enough distance between you and the blast.”

“No,” Amy said, shaking her head wildly, stubbornly. “Never. Not going to happen.”

“Amy, please,” Rory begged. “You don’t have time for this.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“Rory—” the Doctor began.

“Doctor!” Rory cut in with a scream, frantically. “You owe me. All those missions, all those times I followed you blindly and never questioned! You  _owe_  me, and I am telling you – get my wife out of here!”

After a brief beat, the Doctor knew what he had to do. “I’m sorry,” he said to Rory. “You’re a good man, Rory.”

Turning on his heels, he caught Amy by the waist before she could bolt away from him. “Wait, no – what are you doing?!” she demanded, struggling – proving her credibility as an agent when she landed a hard jab to his stomach, nearly making him let go. But the Doctor was a veteran in this; he’d been the one to train her; and he was determined too, because she would hate him for this, but her life depended on it – and he owed Rory that. Rory, who had always been loyal and dependable and loved Amy Pond more than anything in the entire universe. 

Amy cried out, fighting with every ounce in her, “Let me go!” But he shoved her inside the last elevator, flashed the same ID he’d used to get down here in the first place, and hit the button for the lobby floor. Even when the doors closed, Amy never stopped fighting. The panic had set in, the jabs and kicking now more frantic and desperate. She choked out a cry, cursing his name, calling out for Rory, and then halfway up, she collapsed into his arms, sobbing. He brushed the hair away from her face, his heart shredded in two as saw her break down. 

“Please,” she sobbed, mindlessly. “We have to go back.  _Rory._ ” 

When the doors finally pinged open, he almost had to carry her out. The seconds ticked down, the lobby empty as he raced through it with Amy in his arms. She had gone into shock of some sort, allowing herself to be ushered out without protest or even much awareness. He slammed into the door sideways, managed to clear a few steps down the courtyard, all the while, calling out to the ignorant crowds that had gathered outside. “Get away!” he screamed to them. “Bomb! Bomb in the building!” 

Twenty seconds left.

His declaration caused the crowds to break out into a mob, and in the ensuing madness, he nearly lost his hold on Amy. He swung her back towards him and kept propelling them away from the building, passed the line of cars, and the black van waiting idly across the street slid open to reveal Jack inside. 

“What the hell is going on?” Jack demanded. “I lost contact with everyone nearly an hour ago!” The Doctor deposited Amy at the steps of the van, and Jack took one look at her disheveled state, and swallowed. “What the fuck happened? Where’s Rory? Doctor, where’s  _River_?”

The timer on his watch went off. 

The Doctor turned back to the building because he just had to– and then  _bham_. The explosion rocked the earth, and the Doctor went flying back, thrown across the pavement as the heat of the blast expanded. He slammed into the side of the van, the wind knocked out of him as the explosion spread out and debris went flying everywhere. He crumbled into a small ball, feeling the blaze of pain up across his body.

After a few mindless moments passed, he attempted to push himself upright, vision ebbing and blurring, first finding Amy struggling to her feet nearby, then Jack, and then finally he looked to the wreckage. The building had been torn in half, a giant chasm right through the center of it, and it came tumbling down like a deck of cards caving in on itself. The Doctor’s eyes slammed shut as the building continued to buckle and fold, the grating noise of metal and screams in the air mixing together to create a cacophony of noises that he could just hear even over the faint ringing sound in his ears.

“Rory,” Amy sobbed nearby in a pained breath.

Then amidst the chaos of the blast-site, he caught a brief flash of familiar wild curls, covered in a thick layer of soot and dust, hurrying in the opposite direction – he caught a glimpse just from the back, just from a distance, and she disappeared into the crowds and chaos before he could think or call out or feel betrayed or do anything at all; then Jack was already urgently loading him into the van. The Doctor tried to call out, stop him – but his vision spun as he landed on the matted floor of the vehicle, and darkness surrounded him. For the first time he noticed the severity of his own injuries, but he barely gave it much consideration. His last thought before he passed out was all about getting to River Song.

It wasn’t a charitable thought.


	6. Chapter 6

The mid-morning sun was hot on his face when the Doctor awoke. For the first few seconds, disorientation ruled, especially when he found himself in an unfamiliar bedroom and suffering more than a few minor injuries. Then the memories of the bombing trickled in. 

He felt the bitter bite of something in the back of his throat, and pushed himself slowly out of bed. He had wounds and bandages in a number of places, making his movement sluggish and painful, but the Doctor didn’t complain. Bracing a hand along the wall, he walked awkwardly down the unfamiliar hallway. Apparently they’d changed safe houses again while he’d been knocked out. He’d awoken already once before, half under the fog of sedatives, but he hadn’t remembered much of what he’d said or done. He figured he was suffering a concussion, some bruised ribs, a few lacerations to the face and body – he’d managed to avoid most of the shrapnel, apparently. Small favors. 

He found Jack in the kitchen, making them – what? Lunch? Breakfast? The Doctor was still disorientated about the time, when Jack looked up and glared. “You’re supposed to be in bed, recouping.”

“Where’s Amy?” 

Jack closed his mouth, and looked away. “She’s in the back. I’d let her be for a while. She’s…”

 _Grieving._

Despite the normal price of doing business in their world, the stab of Rory’s death was something he couldn’t shake off and knew he wouldn’t for some time. Grief always had a habit of clinging stubbornly, and the Doctor was all too familiar with its pungent odor. From the various players he’d taken out personally, to those fellow agents who had passed away in the line of duty – he still wasn’t able to look Rose in the eye after the absolute disaster of their last mission together. And now Amy’s unripened marriage was just another added tally to the Doctor’s failings; Rory Williams – god rest his soul. 

For a beat, the Doctor scrubbed a hand over his face and looked to the open door, wondering how he was ever going to face the young woman who he’d taken on as a partner these last few years. Amy would survive Rory’s death, but  _how_  was the question.

“Where are we?”

“My place,” Jack answered, before he pulled a glass from the cabinet and poured some water out. He slid the glass across the countertop towards the Doctor, and the Doctor accepted it gratefully without word because his throat was parched. “Doctor, you should know – the Crown Jewels.”

The Doctor looked up sharply. “What about them?”

“They were gone when we made it back to your flat. That’s why we moved here; your place is blown. The Silence got their hands on it.”

The Doctor paused. “Either that, or River Song slipped in and took it.”

Jack tensed. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s working with us.”

“You weren’t there when she left us to die.”

It wasn’t until the words were out of his mouth that the Doctor realized the sheer level of venom that was inherent in them. Usually he was able to separate his emotions from the situation; he may have hated his enemies, but he never acted out in rage. It just made things messy. But this time? Oh, he was positively  _livid_. River had left them to die, just cut and run when things got messy. He took a breath, collecting himself again so that it simmered down into a cool, rough anger. He’d been a fool to ever follow River or believe a single word she said, but he hadn’t figured her for a turncoat, plain and simple.

Jack was watching him carefully. “You don’t know her,” he said, firmly, but not goading, like he recognized the simmering anger just beneath the Doctor’s skin. “River is a great many number of things, but coward is nowhere on that list.”

“You think you know her so well?”

“Ten years, Doctor,” Jack said. “When men like you have come and gone, I’ve been there for her steady.”

The Doctor wondered what he meant by “men like you,” but then again, he shouldn’t have cared. That mysterious John fellow, no doubt. Most likely the father of Melody. He let the thought fester for a second or two before he turned away.

“Did you know?” the Doctor asked. “About Melody?” Jack paused, turning away – enough of an answer. “See? She didn’t even tell you about the fact that she had a  _child._  And you think you know her?”

“No one  _knows_  River,” Jack snapped, suddenly, turning back with a flash of anger. “That girl is woven up in more secrets than anyone else I’ve ever met, but there will come a time when you figure out something that took me a while to figure out – that took her late fiancé even longer.”

“What?” the Doctor demanded.

“You don’t have to know everything about River Song to  _trust_  her.”

The Doctor paused, letting the declaration soak up the silence for a moment. Her betrayal had stung, more so than the Doctor cared to admit even to himself. Maybe that was why he was so angry? A part of him almost wanted to believe Jack and his impassioned plea, but the Doctor couldn’t think of a single acceptable reason as to why she would abandon them back there. Rory was dead. How was any of that justified? 

The headache behind his right eye spiked, and he rubbed wearily at it before taking another cool sip of his water, then looked to the hallway that led to the back. Amy was there. The Doctor knew he had to face her eventually, but the prospect of it left him temporarily without courage. He’d led her into a trap, taken away the man in her life – and now he had to deal with the fallout. It truly was Rose all over again. 

He hobbled down the hallway more than walked. Jack’s place was small, so it wasn’t long before he found Amy in one of the spare bedrooms, perched on a corner of the bed. There was a line of weapons spread out across the sheets – two Glocks, a dismantled rifle, a small pouch with throw knives, and two hand grenades. She was busy cleaning one of her guns, the chamber open and a dingy rag in her hands. There were lacerations all across her knuckles and arms, and though a curtain of red hair hid her face, he could spy a patch of white bandages underneath her shirt, just at the collar. He swung around the bed, and looked at her face.

She sat, emotionless. “Doctor,” she greeted.

“Amy.” He paused. “How are you doing?”

“Better than you, I imagine. No bruised ribs or concussion.”

That wasn’t what he was asking after, and they both knew it. Gingerly, he dropped himself onto the corner chair, wincing as he stretched one leg out before him. They sat like that for a while, neither saying a thing. At a loss for words, he studied her as she continued to clean the weaponry in her possession. The task was obviously a distraction, and he let her have it. In some ways, he still thought of her as Amelia Pond, the positively green Jr. Agent that had been sent his way years back – and the Doctor had taken an instant liking to her, tucking her under his wing and training her as his protégé. She became like a little sister to him over the years, ribbing him affectionately as he only allowed her to do, a deep and strong personal bond between the two of them. 

When Rory had come into the picture, the Doctor had been a little thrown by the addition to their dynamic. Even, to his embarrassment, briefly become a little territorial. But then everything had seemingly fallen into place without any effort. Rory had become part of their team as seamlessly as if he’d always been there, and now, just look at what was left behind: the Doctor and Amy Pond, and the gaping hole of Rory was a giant chasm in the empty space between them. 

She wasn’t Amelia Pond anymore; hadn’t been for some time. In fact, there were times when the Doctor saw brief flashes of something strong and dark in Amy that scared him, because it reminded him a little too much of his own inner demons. The Doctor never wanted her to follow in his footsteps, not entirely. Now, he wondered at what her fate would hold. She’d been climbing up the ranks of MI6 with a natural born talent, but she had yet to get her hands dirty. Zero kills. Watching her clean and strip weapons with an ease that would make veteran agents nervous, he suddenly envisioned a future for her. 

To achieve Double-O status, among other qualifications, an agent had to complete two kills on a mission. Just two. The Doctor’s own kills had happened over a decade ago in a painful op that had resulted in numerous casualties. The Doctor had changed after that fateful day, and since then his hands had only gotten bloodier. He didn’t want that for Amy, but he could see it so clearly now. 

Beautiful and talented, Amy Pond would make an  _exceptional_  Double-O agent. Most would think she was too kind-hearted for that, but then again, that’s what they had once upon a time said about the Doctor. No, Rory’s death would harden her, galvanize her into becoming an agent that could do the things she needed to do for Queen and Country. Just two kills lay in her way, and the Doctor knew by the quick and easy moments of her hands as she cleaned out a Glock, that those two kills were approaching on the horizon, quickly.

It sickened the Doctor to realize that, in a quiet moment of epiphany. No words spoken. No actions taken. But he realized it all the same, and his heart broke into a million pieces because of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

Amy stilled. “Not your fault,” she said, simply.

It was charitable. She had legitimate reasons to blame him, but that was Amy Pond – faithful and loyal. She had always forgiven the Doctor for any of his transgressions, even during times when the Doctor was certain he didn’t deserve such mercy. 

The moment was interrupted by the loud bang of the front door crashing open, and then, suddenly, he heard River Song’s voice calling out from the living room.

“Wait, here,” he instructed Amy. 

The nip of anger was hot on his heels as the Doctor moved forward, injuries be damned.

* * *

River needed a stiff drink, desperately.

Bleeding from a nasty knife wound to her stomach, River collapsed inelegantly onto the couch in Jack’s living room, and then called out for anyone nearby. She pressed a hand to her stomach, stemming the flow of blood briefly. Her vision blurred, and she had a moment to curse her luck yet again when there was the sound of approaching footsteps. Jack, she assumed, thanking god, because she needed medical attention and Rory—

“ _Where the hell have you been?_ ” the Doctor practically roared, striding long lengths towards her. “I warned you when we first met that you’d regret it if I ever found out you were playing me for a fool.”

She blinked up at him. “Excuse me?”

“You left us,” he said. “Every time you've needed me, I was there. Where were you when I needed you to—”

“Doctor,” Rory cut in, in the doorway.

“Not now,” the Doctor said, eyes and attention riveted on River. “Where were you when we were in that building? People died! Rory died! You have got some serious nerve showing your face here—”

“Um, Doctor,” Rory tried again.

“I said not now, Rory!” he snapped back. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself, River Song?”

She stared at the Doctor, and it was really rather impressive, considering she was bleeding from a stomach wound and all, that she could manage to be distracted, much less so gripped and caught off-guard by the sheer anger of the Doctor’s diatribe. She arched an eyebrow pointedly, waiting for him to realize the painfully obvious. 

“Penny in the air,” she quipped airily.

“What?” the Doctor demanded.

Jack arrived through the back corridor, and immediately stopped and stared. “Oh, holy shit.” 

Rory raised his hand, waving. “Um, hi.”

“And the penny drops,” River said wryly, as the Doctor turned to finally face the younger man.

Amy emerged from the corridor, then stopped short, eyes cutting straight to her husband. For a second she just stared, speechless, before she finally managed to choke out, half in disbelief, “Rory?” 

“Amy,” Rory returned, giddily relieved. “Oh, are you a sight for sore eyes.” 

He enveloped her in his arms before Amy had even gotten over the sheer shock value. Slowly, with tears in her eyes, still half in disbelief, Amy repeated his name, and then the next second, she was sobbing, gripping her husband back in earnest. River watched, with a small smile spreading across her face, as Amy and Rory started blathering over each other, words of endearment mixing in with tears and a fierce hug, which melted into kissing – a couple of kisses. Snogging, really.

 _Oh god, get a room. This was like watching my parents make-out._

“Hey,” River called out, teasingly. “Not that this isn’t adorable, but I could use some attention too. The medical kind.”

Jack dropped down on bended knee before her, inspecting the wound. He winced, but said, “Not life-threatening, at least. Bandage it up, and you’ll be fine.”

“Such concern from everyone,” River remarked, rolling her eyes. “No, no, please, the overwhelming love from everyone in this room is too much.”

Amy pulled back, studying her husband. “How? You were trapped, Rory. I thought you—”

“River saved me,” Rory answered.

The Doctor choked, seemingly on thin air. 

River merely gave him a stink eye, watching him grow flustered and red-faced, and explained, “I used the second elevator to grab my harness gear, which I had left there on my way into the facility. Then I got Rory out of the trapped elevator by lifting him up through the hatch at the top, and we climbed the seven levels up to the lobby. We got out of there with less than five seconds left to spare. Tried searching for you guys in the crowd, but it was chaos.”

Though, now that she thought about it, she realized how it might’ve looked from their point of view – her up and disappearing like that. She hadn’t had time to explain, the seconds being too precious to lose, and then after the explosion, she had been too busy escaping some of Madam Kovorian’s henchmen. She’d barely escaped with Rory, and had spent the last twenty-four hours in one harrying shoot-out after another. Wry one, that Williams boy. Rory had proven himself a wonderful partner-in-crime, but the last skirmish had not gone as well as she would’ve liked, as was obvious by the state of her sullied shirt.

The Doctor approached Rory, gave him an awkward pat on the back hello, and then slid a sideways glance at River.

“River Song,” Amy said, with none of the Doctor’s reservations, “I could bloody kiss you right now.”

“Thanks, sweetheart, but you’re not my type,” she returned. She sent a glare towards the Doctor, who seemed to be trying his best to blend in with the wallpaper. “Turns out, though, my type might not be all it's cracked up to be.”

“River—” the Doctor began, sheepishly.

“Save it,” she cut in, impatiently. “I need stitches, pain-killers and a whole lot of booze before dealing with you just yet.” She dismissed the Doctor entirely by climbing to her feet again, with the help of Jack, and walked towards the washroom so that she could clean up. “Tell me you have booze, Jack.”

Jack threw her a half-scandalized look, full of hidden affection. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

When they reached the washroom, Jack eased her onto the side of the bathtub. He turned back and shut the door, then started rummaging around the cabinet for the first aid. 

“So,” he began, conversationally. “Banner day for you, eh?”

“Oh, you know, what’s a week without a few shoot-outs and an exploding building? If you hear news coverage about a stolen bus and a joyride through some botanical gardens, just know it was entirely necessary and I was not intentionally aiming for any of those people. Well,” she paused, making a face. “Maybe that Mime.”

Jack crouched before her, gently lifting a small corner of the shirt so that he could see the wound again. River knew it wasn’t life threatening, but it hurt like a bitch and would require a row of stitches without any anesthetics. Plus, by Jack’s hands, they’d be messy and jagged but it wasn’t like she had any choice in the matter. Hospitals were certainly out.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jack remarked. “But if you weren’t already bleeding, I’d have the urge to inflict my own level of damage onto you. Jesus, River.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was never going to abandon them in that building!”

“I know that!” Jack snapped, and met her eyes. “I’m talking about Melody.”

River froze. A beat of silence ticked out, and she didn’t know what to say. Of course the Doctor would have told Jack about Melody, and of course Jack had every right under the sun to be upset about being lied to all these years. He’d been the closest friend she’d had in years, perhaps all her life – and she’d lied to him just like she had to the rest of the world. It hadn’t started out as her intention to keep Melody’s existence hidden from Jack, but he hadn’t been around when she’d been born, and then prison had a way of putting distance between them. 

At some point, it had just become easier to continue the omission rather than explain the truth to him.

“Did John know?” Jack asked, quietly.

“Yes,” she answered through a tight throat. “I told him a month before he died. I was two months pregnant at the time.”

Jack offered a sad smile. “How’d he take it?”

“You know him. He panicked, laughed, cried – generally achieved epic levels of monologuing about his intentions towards his daughter. He knew, even back then, that we’d have a girl. Never even occurred to him it might be a boy.”

And look at what River had let happen to their little girl. 

The memory of seeing Melody was only a day's old, but it already felt like a burden River had been carrying all her life. Pale, rail-thin, and clearly abused – it was a sight that would tear apart any mother. River felt her throat close off, trying to steady herself with a breath.

Jack pressed a hand over hers; talking about Melody was more painful than her knife wound to the gut. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I… didn’t at first, because I couldn’t,” she told him, truthfully. “Then when I could, I… I didn’t want to burden you. The Silence will use her up, and I will stop at nothing to save Melody from them. It’s going to get messy, and that isn’t your fight.”

Darkness washed over his face. “That’s a helleva thing for you to say to me.” She had the good grace to look away. “Look,” he said, sighing. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, but one day, River, you’re going to have to let someone in because you can’t carry all these secrets alone forever. I’m your best friend, but sometimes even I feel like I barely know you.”

She flinched, because that hurt, but she supposed she had it coming. It was only the truth.

“I know what happened with John… it hurt you,” Jack said, voice softening. “But you can’t keep going on like this. You have to start trusting people again. Find someone. It doesn’t have to be me, but god, River –  _someone._ ”

“It’s not that easy,” she argued.

“Life never is,” Jack countered. “But that’s never stopped you before.”

It was easy words to say, harder to live by. She knew Jack had the best intentions at heart for her, and that he said these words not out of anger at being lied to all these years, but out of concern and love. It just wasn’t in her to change that easily. She hadn’t always been like this. Jack was right; losing John had changed her, and not for the better.

“I’m gonna need that booze sooner rather than later,” she told him.

Jack smiled, relenting for the moment as he stood up. “I’ll get the good stuff. Meanwhile, clean off the wound as much as you can.”

She nodded, and Jack exited, leaving her to her own devices in the empty bathroom. She winced as she started unbuttoning her shirt, carefully working down from top to bottom. She shrugged off the sullied shirt carefully, left clad in a black bra and trousers. She reached for the towel on the sink counter, then flinched harshly when she pulled at her wound. Gasping, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, still and quiet for a moment so that the pain could pass.

“Uh, do you need help?” She looked up, and the Doctor was standing in the open doorway. He was keeping his gaze carefully averted, though given that he was reddened in the cheeks, she knew he’d caught at least a peek or two – and the fact that the redness had spread to his ears, she suspected it had been more than just a peek. “I can come back?” he said quickly.

He was trying and failing miserably to hide his awkwardness, arms all akimbo and then flailing when his eyes drifted to her, taking in her form briefly, then snapping his gaze away again. She had a moment to think about the inconsistency of this man: whose line of work involved international espionage, and he’d flirt brazenly with her like he was born into it, but when confronted with her half-naked, began blushing like a freshman at college. The Doctor was a walking contradiction in so many ways.

For her own part, River remained undaunted. It’d take a lot more than a man seeing her half-dressed to make her blush. “Get in or get out, but before you go, hand me the towel so that I can clean up.”

He hesitated, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet like he was warring with himself – or waiting for her to lash out with a right hook, either-or. Finally, he shuffled forward a few steps and then grabbed the towel, handing it to her while keeping his eyes carefully to her left and high.

Sighing, she offered him an eye roll. “Honestly, Doctor, tell me you’ve seen a naked woman before?”

He sputtered, “Yes, many, I’ll have you know!” 

“Really? That many?”

He hesitated. “A man never kisses and tells.”

She arched an eyebrow, and let it go. She was suddenly too tired to keep up the normal charade of their flirting, and to be honest, a part of her was still stinging over his accusations from earlier. It hurt to realize he had thought so low of her – that she’d actually  _abandon_  them like that. She supposed, given the situation and the fact that they barely knew each other, it wasn’t that surprising. Still, it hurt.

Silently, she rung the washcloth under the flowing faucet of the tub. Wincing, she tried to get the blood off quickly, and she realized the bleeding had stemmed a bit, but she wasn’t looking forward to the hatchet job that Jack was going to make of her stitches. A second later, masculine hands joined hers and she flinched slightly, looking up to find the Doctor reaching for the washcloth.

“May I?” he asked, hesitantly.

She shouldn’t have taken such a heightened awareness of his fingers over hers, and the warmth of his hold. With a steadying breath, she released the duties into his care. His hands were steady, but gentle, as he began wiping away at the blood around her wound. River found herself studying him from a close distance; it wasn’t the first time. They’d already danced, verbally sparred, even physically fought at one point, so she’d had plenty of opportunity to study him closely. This time, though, it felt… like something different. 

Perhaps she wasn’t as progressive as she thought? To feel unaffected by a man’s stare when she was half-unclothed. Or perhaps, just maybe, it was the fact that it was  _this_  particular man’s stare? She highly doubted her heart rate would have quickened so fast if it was Jack tending to her injuries. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, suddenly, softly.

He met her eyes, and he sounded contrite enough, but mostly it was the way he looked at her that caught River off-guard. It was an intense look, unwavering and deep – and she felt suddenly trapped by it. 

“You shouldn’t be,” she managed – evenly enough, she hoped. “Can’t expect a girl to play so many tricks, and not expect a guy for fall for at least one of them. I don’t blame you for not trusting me.”

He paused, as if he wanted to say something, then thought better of it and looked away. He deposited the cloth on the counter. He reached for the first aid, and apparently he was planning to do the stitches himself. She had a moment to wonder if he’d be better at it than Jack, but he seemed to know his way around the needle well enough. He disinfected the wound, and River found herself hissing against the sting, looking away to the door. She found Jack standing in the doorway, a bottle of tequila in his hands and a pointedly raised eyebrow. Though the alcohol was promising, she waved him off with a silent shake of her head and Jack seemed to get the message. He turned and left without a word, and the entire time, the Doctor remained oblivious to the exchange occurring over his hunched shoulders.

“This is going to hurt,” the Doctor informed her, unnecessarily.

She took a deep breath, and then grimaced as he began his work, feeling him thread the first of her stitches. She looked up and away, breathing evenly, and he apparently decided she needed a distraction. “You lived up to your word, by the way,” the Doctor began, conversationally.

“What?”

“Twenty-four hours to prove that you were being set up as a patsy in an international conspiracy by an ultra-fascist organization,” he said, and gave her a smile. “You beat the clock by a few hours, in fact.”

She blinked, realizing he was right. Another day had passed, but he’d gotten his confirmation from Madam Kovorian herself. There was no way to deny it now, though what precisely was the conspiracy – that remained a mystery.

“The Crown Jewels,” he said. “Don’t suppose you have them?”

She looked up sharply at him. “You don’t?”

He grimaced. “It was taken from my flat. I was hoping you had it. If you don’t—”

She cursed. “That means the Silence took it.  _Damn it._  That was our only bargaining chip.”

“Yes,” the Doctor agreed, grimacing a little. Then gave her an encouraging smile. “But don’t worry about that. We know more than we did two days ago, and in that we have the advantage now.” 

Confused, she asked, “What? We don’t know anything at all.”

“Wrong,” he declared, continuing with his stitching with a haughty look. “We know quite a bit. We know they need the crown, and your daughter. The two items seem connected somehow. The problem is figuring out how. We also know their plans in Rio are done and over with, because Kovorian blew up her own facility without a bat of an eye. Plus, they flew Melody out on that copter. A copter, not a plane, which means their secondary base is probably somewhere within 500 miles of here. That gives us a circumference, which gives us something to work with. Now it’s just finding the biggest holdings that the Silence have in the area.” She couldn’t help it, she smiled and he grinned back. “What? Did you think I got to where I am because of my looks?”

“It certainly wasn’t because of that bowtie you occasionally wear,” she accused affectionately, “I’ve seen pictures.”

“Hey! Bowties are cool!”

She rolled her eyes, then paused. “There’s more, Doctor. Rory managed to escape with the  _Raven’s Nest_  file after all.”

“You mean that wasn’t just a ruse for you to get us to infiltrate the base?” he asked, surprised.

“I’m not that shameless,” she said, and he lifted an eyebrow, causing her to laugh. “Well, not entirely anyway. The files weren’t quite as important as I led you to believe, but they  _are_  important. Unfortunately, they’re also heavily encrypted, so I haven’t been able to make heads or tails of it yet.”

The Doctor paused, thoughtful. “I might know a tech specialist that could help.”

“Good, because we’re going to need—ouch,” she winced painfully, when the Doctor tugged at her stitches a little too hard.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, grimacing in sympathy. He frowned. “I’m afraid despite my name, the profession isn’t my calling. I haven’t done this in a while.”

She looked down at his handy work thus far. “You’re doing better than Jack. His stitches always come out looking like he was drunk while doing it.”

“I generally assume a man like that has alcohol in his system at all times,” he returned cheekily, and met her gaze with a smile.

She noted that his blushing had lessened a bit, though it was still there, lurking in the faint color of his cheeks. He kept his eyes discreetly on their tasks, either on his stitching or on her eyes when he was talking to her. Given that he was literally inches from her chest and the fact that River knew she was a well-endowed woman, it certainly said something for his character. Nevertheless, she could tell just as easily how hard the effort was to keep up the undertaking, because every so often, she’d see the strain of him trying ever-so-hard  _not_  to look. 

When a strand of his hair fell across his eyes, proving a distraction to his handiwork, he huffed once or twice with his breath to brush it away. Seeing his annoyance, River smiled and reached forward to brush it away with her thumb. She meant it in the same teasing fashion as everything else, but when he looked up, the intensity of his stare was something else altogether. 

For a beat, she thought he might kiss her – and River wasn’t sure what she would’ve done with that, because this thing with the Doctor had started off a game, a way to throw him off his balance, but suddenly she wasn’t sure if it was a game anymore. It suddenly seemed too real.

The moment was shattered when Rory and Amy’s voices flittered in from the hallway, growing louder. “Doctor,” Rory began as he appeared in the doorway, then stopped short, mouth forming an “O” when he saw the sight of the Doctor attending to a half-dressed River. “We’ll come back,” Rory choked out, quickly.

Next to him, Amy was grinning. “Well, well, well,” she began teasingly. 

River rolled her eyes, while the Doctor squeaked out in indignation, “Stitches! I’m giving her stitches!”

“Yeah, sure you are,” Amy said, clearly humoring him. “River, I just wanted to thank you again for getting my husband out of there. Apparently you had a grand ol’ time shooting up a bunch of people the last twenty-four hours?”

River winked at her. “And your old fella was grand company the entire time.”

Amy laughed. “I’m sure. Anyway, thanks, and if you need a favor at any time, just ask me. No questions asked.” 

“Dangerous words to say to a woman with my reputation,” River warned.

Amy’s smile was bold. “I know.”

She tugged her husband away without another word, while Rory choked out a quick apology for the disruption. They disappeared down the hallway. River found herself laughing at the antics of the married couple, half-amused and a little bit relieved at their timely interruption. There was also, if she was being entirely honest with herself, just a touch of disappointment as well. She looked to find the Doctor’s gaze averted again, back on his task. She consoled herself that all this was just the natural side effect to the fact that she flirted with the Doctor like they were Bonnie and Clyde. It wasn’t anything more than that, and furthermore, it couldn’t afford to be. 

Flirting and attraction was one thing; anything more was unthinkable because River had already had the love of her life, and there was no replacing that.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

It had only been two weeks. Not even that. Thirteen days. 

He flipped down the visor as he drove through the heavily congested city streets of Saquarema. They’d been up and down along the coast of Brazil for the last several days, hitting everything from the bigger cities to the smaller towns, trying to find the secondary base of the Silence and any trace of Melody. And for all their efforts, they’d come up with absolutely jack-squat. San Pablo, Espirito Santo, Niteroi, Sao Goncalo, Itaborai, Guapimirim – all of them turned out to be a waste of time. Though a considerable portion of it had been spent in shoot-outs and random infiltration ops, which made for entertaining if not productive activities.

Meanwhile, the Doctor had sent the  _Raven’s Nest_  file down to an old friend for decrypting, and had hit roadblocks after roadblocks there as well. Mickey Smith, the best man in the business if you wanted electronic espionage, was an old friend and husband to one of the Doctor’s former partners, Martha Jones. He was also, incidentally, the ex-boyfriend to Rose, but luckily the two female agents rarely interacted so it wasn’t that awkward of a thing. 

Mickey was normally the guy who could hack his way into anything, anytime, anywhere – all he needed was a laptop, Internet connection, and an endless supply of Twizzlers. Leave him alone for a few hours or a handful of days, and he’d come back with gold – which was why this delay in decrypting the file was so disconcerting. It wasn’t like him to hit walls like this, and it turned a frustrating search for answers even more maddening.

They’d hit dead-ends in every one of their leads.

Pulling up to the safehouse – the latest in a long string of them – the Doctor parked his cherry red 1958 Ford Edsel along the side streets. It wasn’t his Sexy, but they’d been staying out at some of the less-classier places lately and he hadn’t been able to bring her along because a deep blue Aston Martin brought about too much attention. He’d shipped her back to London, and though he missed his car terribly, he almost felt like he was cheating when he found the old classic Ford not that bad of a ride. It didn’t have the bells and whistles and, y’know –  _missiles_  of his Sexy, but it was nice ride nonetheless. 

The summer weather was suffocating as he climbed out of the vehicle. In the neighboring yard, there were a few rusted cars with scrawny dogs sleeping off the stubborn heat. He was wearing clothes to blend in with the locale: a pair of dark jeans, a black tee, and some hiking boots that were pretty damn comfortable. Still, the heat was making him sweat. By the time he made it inside, he found Amy in the kitchen with the fridge open, just standing there so that she could cool off a bit.

“The air-conditioning is out again!” she fumed, without even turning around. “You can jerry-rig a nuclear device with toothpicks and that screwdriver of yours. Why can’t you fix the AC already?”

“I’ll get to it,” he appeased, patiently. 

Amy turned around, and raised an eyebrow at him. “Was River with you?”

“What? No. Why would you ask?”

“You mean besides the fact that you two have been attached at the hip lately? And yes, I half meant that as a euphemism.”

He flushed. “Don’t start, Amy.”

“Don’t start?” Amy repeated, teasingly. “Look at you! How am I not supposed to start?”

He glanced down at himself, finding nothing mockable. “What? You’re always telling me that my bowtie and tweed is horrendous, so I finally change into “normal” clothes,” he did the air-quotes for that, “and you’re still making fun of me!”

“Exactly,” Amy said, jabbing a finger at him. “You’re dressing up. You  _never_  dress up. The last two weeks, I’ve seen you parade out in Armani suits, designer jeans, nice jackets, tuxes—”

“That was for infiltrating a party in the Brazilian Highlands that was suspected to have been hosted by a Silence member,” the Doctor cut in, arguing. “It was for an op.”

“Yes, and River was your date for the evening. Tell me, how many times have you gone undercover as husband and wife these last few weeks? I’ve been your partner for two years, and we’ve never done that. In fact, I’ve never seen anyone talk to you the way she does. She's kind of, like, you know,  _‘Heel, boy!’_  You two seem to be enjoying yourselves quite a bit.”

He scowled, shuffling around the kitchen table because he was getting flustered. “I don’t… don’t go to parties with River Song for  _enjoyment_! It’s part of the mission.”

“Don’t lie to me, Doctor. You’re rubbish at it.” 

“Amelia Pond, you’ve got too much free time on your hands.”

“Right, right.” Amy was smiling, insufferably so. “Where is she, then?”

“How should I know?”

“You’re telling me you don’t?”

His shoulders slumped, and he scowled again. “She’s with Jack, following up on a lead.”

Amy’s face brightened like he’d just admitted he was drawing hearts and stars around River’s name in his journal. With a heavy sigh, he went to the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of something cool – and possibly dump it on Amy’s head. She had always ribbed him about the fact that he never dated or showed interest in anyone, but this latest thing with River had just opened up the floodgates to a new source of teasing material. Amy Pond, the biggest yenta this side of the Atlantic Ocean.

“Is there anything I can do to change the topic?” he asked, wryly.

“Yes,” Amy said. “Fix the AC.”

He rolled his eyes, realizing he’d walked right into that one. Waving a hand towards her in defeat, he wandered down the corridor to check out the air conditioning unit. He took a sip of the cool lemonade he’d poured out for himself, grimacing when he realized Amy must’ve made it because it was sour with far too little sugar. He set it down on the hallway table, glaring at it a little for its offense, then stopped before the air conditioning unit. Popping off the cover, he realized it was a device that was probably older than him, an absolute mess and would require complete rewiring. 

Truth be told, he could use the distraction of fixing and fiddling. Amy’s unbearable ribbing had actually poked at something he’d been thinking about a lot, despite himself. Outwardly, he gave no indication that he was giving much consideration to it, but it was there, constantly lurking in the back of his mind. The nature of his relationship with River was beyond something he could easily categorize or define. 

He had no idea where he really stood with River. That was the main problem. They’d moved past the initial stage of suspicion and distrust, because whatever else River Song was, she’d proven herself someone that would risk her life for others. That counted for a lot in the Doctor’s book. He knew a little more of her back-story, but there was still so much more to unwrap and he wasn’t sure when – or if – he’d ever get all the answers. Every time he’d ask, she’d stonewall him with a smile.

Plus, there was the simple  _nature_  of his interaction with her. Banter and innuendos and brazen smirks. It wasn’t like the easy camaraderie he had with any of his female partners, former or current. River Song made his pulse race. She yanked his chain, and put him in more danger in the last two weeks than he had in the last two months, and it was perhaps a bit morbid of him, but he found that attractive as hell. He never knew what to expect with her. It was a little frightening, to be honest, how easily she messed with his brain. 

In front of him, he idly stripped off the coating on a wire, and connected it to another, frowning as he went along with his work. His mind was so preoccupied he did the work on auto-mode. Because it wasn’t as straightforward as attraction, either. River had a past, a past with a man named John, and it didn’t take a psychic to see the grief of that still haunted her. Then there was Melody, and the story behind River’s sentencing to a life in prison – and all of it combined to create some type of obscure, incomplete, incredibly complicated picture. River claimed she’d been set up for the murder wrap, thrown into prison for life because the Silence had seen her as a threat. The man she had allegedly killed was someone she claims to never have met, and while the Doctor wanted to believe her, because he’d seen now the full lengths and measures that Madame Kovorian would go to in order to execute her plans, he knew there was something missing in River’s version of the tale. Something she was holding back. 

He felt a trickle of frustration work its way through him, even if it was lavishly hypocritical of him. He was known as a bloody-minded, contradictory and an unpredictable man. A lifetime of holding his own secrets, of selling his own lies, and now he was faced with someone that could run circles around him when it came to subterfuge.

With a sigh and then a rueful laugh, he realized he couldn’t deny it any further.

He’d finally met his match.

* * *

Within the next hour, he got a phone call from Mickey. “So, Doctor,” Mickey sounded pleased. “Answer me this: who  _da man_?”

“Oh, please, Mickey.” The Doctor made a face. “Don’t make me say that phrase. Attempted it once and it didn’t go very well.”

“No, sorry, Doctor, I’m not going to tell you what I have to say until you say it. Who da man?”

“You’ve broken through the decryption, then?”

“Doctor,” Mickey intoned, gleefully.

The Doctor sighed, then said sullenly, “You da man, Mickey.”

“Damn straight I am!” Mickey announced. “I have an algorithm up and running that should  _finally_  break through the fire walls on this file. I don’t know what to tell you. I have gone at this thing left, right and center, and whoever decrypted this thing knew what they were doing. But they didn’t know they were going up against the kung-fu of a master like me. This algorithm I wrote is a thing of a beauty. No, it’s a  _masterpiece_ —”

“Oi,” the Doctor cut in, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Master P-diddy, what did the  _Raven’s Nest_  file tell you?”

Mickey was silent for a beat. “Well, the algorithm is still running. But I should have the entire thing decrypted in the next twelve hours, assuming all goes well.”

He sighed. “Twelve hours?”

“Hey! Be thankful it isn’t twelve years! This thing took me night and day for the last week! I missed dinner with Martha’s family twice because of it!”

“… and how is that a problem?” the Doctor asked, knowing Martha’s family as well as he did.

“It wasn’t,” Mickey admitted. “But dealing with Martha about it  _was._ ”

“Ah, Mickey. See?” The Doctor enjoyed a good laugh. “This is why I’ll never get married. I don’t like to be tethered to any woman’s apron strings.”

Just then, River walked through the front door with Jack in tow. She made a gesture for him to follow her, waving a single finger in his direction, and then left for the living room without a word. The Doctor frowned. 

“Hey, listen, Mickey,” he said, clearing his throat. “I gotta go. Wait until I get over there before you do the final stages of decryption. I want to be there when you open the file.”

“You’re coming back to London?”

“Yes,” the Doctor declared, having just reached the decision. “Every lead down here has proven a bust. It’s time we resurface.”

“Cool,” Mickey declared. “Just ring me when you’re in town.”

The Doctor closed the phone and walked down the corridor towards the others. Inside the living room he found River, Jack, Amy and Rory discussing something. “We found a lead,” River announced, looking up at him. “A genuine one, this time. An influential smuggler named Dorian Grey. He has close ties to the Silence, and moreover, he’s here in Brazil.”

The Doctor crossed his arms. “You sure?”

“It’s a good lead, Doctor,” Jack said to him. “I’ve heard of Dorian before. He runs in the same circles as Madam Kovorian. He’ll be a bit difficult to get a hold of—”

“Not if you have the right explosives,” River offered, wryly.

The Doctor tried not to smile. “All right. This changes things. I just got off the phone with Mickey. He thinks he’s going to decrypt the  _Raven’s Nest_  file by tonight. I wanted to be there when it happened, but I’ll tell him—”

“But I want to be there for that,” River spoke over him, straightening. “That file might be important. More important than Dorian.”

“Dorian might have information that could lead us to Kovorian’s whereabouts,” Jack cut in, arguing.

“Well, then,” the Doctor said, “There’s only one thing to do. Split up.” 

Rory looked over at him, dubious. “Split up?”

“Yes,” the Doctor declared. “River and Jack can stay here and talk to Dorian—”

“I’m coming to London for the files,” River insisted.

“All right,” the Doctor said, nodding. “Then come with me to see Mickey. Jack – you, Amy and Rory work on pumping Dorian for as much information as possible. Try to be subtle about it.”

Jack smiled. “Doc, never ask me to be subtle about pumping a guy. It’s not gonna happen.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Okay, we’ve got a little time to go over logistics. Let’s get to work.”

* * *

Several hours later, the plane landing was rough, as though the pilot was as impatient to get off the plane as his passengers. The Doctor lifted his luggage out the overhead compartment as River quietly slid out from the window seat. Heathrow was always a madhouse with overcrowding, but they passed customs and picked their luggage up in record time. Outside, the sky was damp, dark and cloudy, and the sun had just set. 

When they reached the line of cabs outside, River hailed for one and they took the congested streets to Mickey and Martha’s place in Kingston. Evening traffic was backed up because of rush hour, and the cabbie up front was zoned out to some jazz music. A somber mood fell onto the car ride. The intermittent light created brief explosions of light and dark inside the automobile as it moved down the street. The Doctor found himself studying River’s profile in the racing streetlights. She was looking outside at the view, but it seemed as if her mind was miles and miles away. It didn’t look like it was particularly pleasant thoughts, either. Her jaw was set in a firm and hard line, and he wondered what she was thinking about, or even if it was worth it to ask. 

“I used to live here in the nineties, y’know?” River offered, conversationally. “London, then Paris, a bit of time in America.”

“Not one for staying still?”

“A girl likes to keep on the go.”

When the car slowed to a standstill, there was a brief flash of thunder and then rain came pouring down. It suddenly occurred to him why she was so quiet all of a sudden – she had a history here in this town. Maybe she met John here? She probably lost him here, too, then. 

“Who was he?” the Doctor asked, not for the first time. “Your fiancé.”

She paused, looking over at him, and something must’ve changed since the last time he’d asked this question and now, because she actually answered. “Smith.”

“What?”

“His last name. It’s Smith.”

“ _John Smith_?” he repeated, incredulously. “Now you’re just having me on.”

She laughed. “No, I’m serious! His name actually is John Smith. I can’t help it if there’s another dozen million men with the same name. Though, if I’m being perfectly honest, I may not have believed him entirely when he first introduced himself, either.”

“Trust issues even back then, Miss Song?”

She was grinning. “Well, in my defense, we had an uncommon introduction. And no, before you ask, I’m not spilling those details. A girl never kisses and tells.”

He grinned back because he liked seeing her laugh; it was a little amazing, actually, considering the amount of horrors she’d gone through in her life. Loss of her fiancé, loss of her child, imprisonment for life – and still she could find remarkable joy and laughter in the small things.

“What was he like?” 

She turned to look at him, smiling. “He was a lot like you, actually. Same sense of humor, the same thrill of the adventure. He hated violence too, y’know? You two would’ve gotten along marvelously.” 

The Doctor knew that was a compliment of the highest order. 

She looked out the window, losing herself to her thoughts once more but this time there was a faint smile on her lips. He found himself watching her again, so fascinated by the woman next to him. He’d never loved like a person like that, like the obvious way that River did. He’d loved and lost, but the Doctor had always tried to move on, never looking back, like the pain was a physical thing he could get away from if he just ran hard enough. But River kept that memory with her; she kept it alive and strong. The Doctor wasn’t sure he could ever love like that. 

“A storm’s coming,” the driver announced suddenly from up front, breaking the silence. “Looks like it’s gonna be a big one.” 

* * *

River rushed after the Doctor through the heavy outpouring of rain, up the stairs to a quaint two-story townhouse. Even the thick leaves and towering trees served as ineffectual protection against the deluge, and by the time they’d hit the porch, they were completely soaked. River feared for the state of her hair when it air-dried.

The Doctor knocked quickly, impatiently, and a few seconds later the door opened to reveal a man in his late-twenties, just a little bit younger than the Doctor. Mickey Smith turned out to be a handsome dark-skinned fellow with shot-cropped hair, and he had a cross look on his face as he stood on the other side of the screen door. 

“You’re late,” he accused, glaring – then grinned. “Some things never change!”

They were quickly ushered into the house, and River watched the Doctor and this other man exchange a quick manly hug as they both spoke over each other in quick succession. It had obviously been some time since they’d last seen each other because the reunion had that element of  _long time no see._  The Doctor briefly stopped to introduce River to the man, but they were so caught up in the animated chitchat that she simply offered a small handshake. River took the opportunity to glance about the modest home, spying a row of photographs up against the stairway wall. A woman of striking beauty was featured in them, alongside Mickey, and River recognized her at once.

Martha Jones. 

Long before Martha had been the Doctor’s partner, she had been 0010’s partner. River remembered the fondness with which John used to talk about all his partners, and it seemed there was a regular rotation among the MI6 because all his partners had apparently also been partnered with the Doctor over the years. Martha Jones, Donna Noble and, of course, Rose Tyler – River knew of all of them. In particular, the last.

“Here,” Mickey said, remembering to play host. “Let me take your coat. You must be freezing!”

“Where’s Martha?” the Doctor asked, as he helped River shrug out of her coat.

“She’s out right now,” Mickey answered. “Be back in a few. C’mon, we can get business out of the way till then.”

He led them down to the basement floor, where inside they found a small hub of computer monitors and machines that looked both ultra-modern and long neglected. There were scraps of junkfood wrappers everywhere, a box of pizza left open and half-eaten on the floor, and random pieces of liquorice left lying everywhere. It was obvious that Mickey was sleep-deprived, over-caffeinated and had a sweet-tooth; he also seemed like a sweet guy – she could tell that from the genuinely friendly greeting at the front door. But he was also sloppy to the extreme because his workplace was like a man-cave that had been populated by a gaggle of fraternity boys. 

“This is my Mecca,” he told them, settling into his seat in front of the monitors.

And he had surrounded himself by  _numerous_  monitors, and each screen had a different feed: scrolls of texts, video surveillance, open files, and on the biggest screen in the center was the encrypted  _Raven’s Nest_  file. The algorithm was running down the screen, bits of data and decryption software flowing down a countdown to completion. The file was over 99% complete.

“It’ll be a few minutes more,” Mickey told them. “You guys came at just the right time. I’ve been eager and desperate to finally crack this baby for days!”

“You’re telling me,” River offered wryly, leaning a hand against his worktable and checking out the screens one-by-one. She desperately hoped  _Raven’s Nest_  wasn’t a complete bust. She needed answers. She needed a clue that could point her in the right direction towards Melody. “You haven’t told anyone else about this, have you?”

Mickey made a face. “Only my wife. I know how to keep a secret.”

“Good,” the Doctor said, clapping a hand over his shoulder. “Let’s keep it that way.”

The sound of the front door opening upstairs caught everyone’s attention. “That’ll be Martha,” Mickey announced, then looked over his shoulder at the Doctor. “You mind?”

The Doctor grinned, eagerly. “My pleasure.”

He went back up the stairs, and a moment later River heard the delighted squeal of another woman and then a second rambunctious reunion, this one even more animated than the last. 

Mickey looked over at River and rolled his eyes, saying, “Martha’s been looking forward to seeing him for ages.”

“How long has it been since they last saw each other?” 

“Years,” Mickey answered, without thinking. “The Doctor sorta stopped talking to his old mates after that messy mission where—” he suddenly stopped, clamping his mouth shut like he realized he was about to admit something he probably shouldn’t have. He went flush in the face, and smiled up at River. “You know the Doctor. Once he puts something in the past, he doesn’t go back.”

River had a feeling she knew exactly what he was talking about, but there was a disquieting element to it, like she only knew half the picture. The sounds of the Doctor and Martha coming down the stairs interrupted the moment before River could further question it, and River swiveled around to greet the couple as they emerged into the basement.

“River Song,” the Doctor said, as gleefully as a kid in a candy-store. “Allow me the pleasure of introducing you to the ever-fantastic Martha Jones.”

Martha stopped before River, and the pictures hadn’t done her justice because Martha looked even more radiant in person. As they quickly shook hands, River found herself under an equal amount of scrutiny, though Martha looked more curious than anything.

“I’m sorry,” Martha said, sounding bewildered. “You look awfully familiar. Have we met before?”

River had a split-second panic before she eased into a smile. “I don’t think so. I’m good with faces.”

The bridge above Martha’s nose crinkled with confusion, but the moment was thankfully interrupted when Mickey slammed a hand down in victory. “Decryption is complete!” he declared.

Everyone broke for the computer, crowding around the screens. In the back, River tossed a quiet look to study Martha’s profile. They’d never met before, not in person, but John had talked a lot about Martha to River; one story in particular about the undercover work Martha had endured for well over a year, which led directly to the fall of one of the most ruthless tycoons in western civilization, a deranged man who had liked to call himself the Master. But now River wondered if the stories had ever gone both ways. Did John ever talk about River to Martha? As far as River knew, he hadn’t mentioned one word.

If he had, that’d make things complicated.

“Mickey,” the Doctor said. “Get out of the chair.”

“Oy,” Mickey replied, sounding insulted. “You don’t just go to another man’s castle and ask to sit on his throne.”

Martha gave her husband a small tap upside the head. “Move it, Mickey. Let the Doctor do his thing.”

Mickey moved away with a grumble, muttering something under his breath about how his wife always went doe-eyed around the Doctor. Martha just laughed, then pulled her husband to her by the hand, and wrapped an arm around him. She gave him a kiss to the cheek, and that seemed to appease him somewhat.

The Doctor had already transferred into the chair, too absorbed in his work to mark the domestic scene behind or the grumblings of the younger man. All business now, he typed out a quick series of commands and scrolled down the heavy text quickly. River read over his shoulder, and though she wasn’t a tech guy, she had a head for these sorts of things – reading intel and figuring out what was going on. It was a byproduct of her profession. River had always been the top of her class; she could’ve easily been a scientist or an astronaut or a doctor in another life. In fact when she was younger, she’d always wanted to be an archeologist. But in this life, she’d turned towards espionage and crime, and her various talents had never gone to waste. 

She hovered over the Doctor’s shoulder, the proximity of their bodies becoming less and less until she was practically pressing into him. “That, there,” River said to him, tapping at a portion of the screen. “Stop.”

The Doctor hit the command, and the screen stopped scrolling. They both read for a bit, and then the Doctor cursed under his breath. A split-second later, understanding dawned on River like a lightning bolt when she realized what had the Doctor so upset. 

“It can’t be—” she began.

“It is,” the Doctor insisted, and turned to exchange a look with her. “You’re looking at the figures as much as I am.”

“But these numbers,” River argued. “They’re on a massive scale.”

“I think it’s meant to be. Massive, possibly global.”

“That’s not possible!” 

“Tell that to the person who designed this. Bloody brilliant, if I do say so. Mad and dangerous and little bit sickening, but bloody brilliant.”

“Uh, guys?” Martha broke in, raising a hand. “What are you two on about?”

The Doctor pulled up the code on screen, pointing to the matrix-like data-stream in the center. “Subliminal messaging,” he explained. “This is blueprints for a device that will send out a subliminal message on a massive scale.”

“What?” Mickey questioned, making a face. “You mean like,  _buy more Coke,_  or  _Vote for this guy_?”

“This is heavier than that,” the Doctor said, getting absorbed in the stream again.

“Heavier how?” Martha questioned.

The Doctor was already lost to his work again, so River had to explain. “Normal subliminal messaging has to work on a small scale, and with repeat exposure. It has to be subtle enough so that people perceive it with their subconscious while not perceiving it consciously. Like you said, Mickey, the technique is sometimes used in movies and advertising to influence the subconscious of the viewer. But this… this is greater.”

“I’m going to have nightmares from what you’re gonna tell me now,” Mickey cut in, “aren’t I?

River sympathized. “Imagine a device that only needs one time exposure to be effective. One glimpse, one split-second, and then the Silence can control you for the rest of your life. This isn’t subliminal messaging as much as it is brainwashing—” she broke off, suddenly realizing where Melody might fit into the picture. She sucked in a gasp, sickened, and turned to the Doctor. “Doctor, Melody—”

“I know,” he said, eyes softening because the same thought must’ve occurred to him. “I think she might have been the first test subject.”

River suddenly went weak in the knees, the strength in her body abruptly leaving her. The Doctor jumped up, catching her, and she was too out of it to realize how this must’ve looked to the others. Martha and Mickey both stood confused while the Doctor ushered her into the chair, where River collapsed inelegantly, completely numb.

Her child – her sweet precious child, and the Silence had been experimenting on  _brainwashing_  her. A hand flew to her mouth, choking back a sob, and the entire time the Doctor was rubbing hands up and down her back in soothing motions. 

“Could you give us a minute?” the Doctor asked Martha.

Martha gave a slow nod, studying River acutely, then tugged her husband up the stairs. 

“It’s going to be all right,” the Doctor told her.

“How?” River choked out. “How is this remotely all right? My daughter—”

“We’ll get her back. I promise. We’ll get her back and undo any of the damage that was done. I swear it.”

River wanted to believe him so badly, but she wasn’t sure if the damage  _could_  be undone. Not that it’d stop River from trying, and she looked up at the Doctor to find his eyes soft and imploring, and with a sheen of water in them – like the thought of Melody in such harm’s way managed to inflict pain on him as well. He’d only met Melody once, only for a few moments, and he had none of the parental concern that River had, but it calmed River down a bit to realize that there was someone else looking out for Melody. Especially someone as capable as the Doctor.

“We have to stop them, Doctor,” she whispered out. “We have to stop the Silence.”

He nodded, and stepped back, looking to the monitors. “Judging by the numbers, I think the device is… it’s intended only for children,” he said, a bit sickened. “Melody was the first, but I fear she won’t be the last. We’ll stop them, River. If it’s the last thing I do, the Silence will fall.”

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Half an hour later, River was entertaining herself by drawing swirls and curlicues in the chocolate sludge at the bottom of her cup. The Doctor was still researching away, studying the blueprints of that brainwashing device on Mickey’s monitors, but River needed to step away for a while. Fresh air really wasn’t a real option, given that outside it was pouring like cats and dogs, but River faired the weather anyway, standing at the front porch and watching the rain come down like dull bullets from the sky. Martha had offered her a cup of hot chocolate and some company – but River admitted she wasn’t being that greatest of company herself. Her mind was too awash with a dozen different scenarios, all of them horrible.

Melody – brainwashed. It was her worst nightmare, or at least one of them.

“You’re prettier than he described you,” Martha broke the silence.

River glanced up, blinking her malaise away. It took a beat for her to understand Martha’s comment for what it was, and she offered a strained smile, still preoccupied. “The Doctor has been paying compliments, has he? How nice of him.”

“Not the Doctor,” Martha said, softly. “John.”

Her eyes snapped up and found Martha’s knowing expression trained on her. For a beat, River could barely breathe. A thousand things rushed through her mind in that split-second – Martha knew; John had mentioned her; this would complicate the current situation; how much did she know? The thoughts tripped over one another in a staggering moment of realization, and River found herself unable to cope with it for a moment.

“It took me a while to place you,” Martha admitted, explaining. She glanced back to make sure the front door was shut, and when their privacy was confirmed, she said with a sideway’s glance, “I think it was the hair that tipped me off, honestly. I saw a picture of you once, long ago and hidden in John’s wallet. He denied everything at first, but you know him. For such a gifted spy, sometimes he could be a horrible liar. I dragged it out of him that he was seeing someone, and it was pretty serious – though he kept details of you to a minimum.”

“We agreed long ago to keep things quiet about us,” River said, still holding her breath.

Martha tipped an eyebrow up, amused. “Can’t imagine why. An MI6 agent and one of the most notorious thieves in all the world. Quite the match.” She offered a small smile, pained. “Melody, your little girl. Is she his?”

River glanced away, and sighed. “Yes.”

Martha was quiet for a beat. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through – a child like that.” She paused, placing a hand over own stomach. “I’m pregnant, you know? Three months. I haven’t told that many people yet, but I can’t imagine going through my life with that big of a secret for long.”

“You get used to secrets,” River replied, faintly. “Tell them long enough and they become like friends and lovers. They keep you company. You stay in this game long enough, and you’ll realize that yourself.”

Martha looked painfully sympathetic. “What are you going to do when this is all over?”

River laughed, because this ever being _over_ was a fairytale. "Haven’t thought that far yet, but I figure they’ll be some cliché about Disney World involved." River paused, then offered her first genuine smile for the evening. “Congratulations, by the way. On the pregnancy.”

Martha came to stand beside her at the edge of the porch, fingers curling alongside hers around the damp railing. River found her eyes falling to the wedding ring on Martha’s finger for a beat, and a quiet ache went through River as she remembered the engagement ring that John had surprised her with one autumn morning, alongside her breakfast in bed. Most people judged a diamond by the standard four criteria: cut, carat, color and clarity. River, of course, as a jewel thief knew considerably more by just a simple glance, her appreciation honed into an art form. John had anticipated this, of course, and he’d gotten her a rare pink diamond ring that probably cost an average person a year’s salary. The ring now rested in a safe-deposit box somewhere in this city, along with all the other items that River had set aside from her previous life.

Martha’s ring, on the other hand, was simple, tasteful, and more traditional; it suited Martha perfectly. River studied the younger woman, having already sized her up. Martha was dressed in blue scrubs and a tank top, and though she still managed to look like a pretty and innocent young thing, River wasn’t fooled. She’d heard enough stories.

“The Doctor doesn’t know, does he?” Martha asked, and River acknowledged the answer with a pointed look. Martha sighed. “Look, your secret’s safe with me, as long as you promise me that this isn’t some sort of vendetta trip. The Doctor is a good man.”

River found herself laughing a little. “You’re afraid I’m going to lead him into trouble?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Martha countered. “Whatever happened in the past isn’t his fault, and you can’t blame him for it.”

It was curious choice of words, and River paused, deliberating it. Martha felt a need to declare her loyalty and warn River against hurting the Doctor. Why? Any threat River posed to the Doctor was only incidental to the mission, and she knew as well as anybody that the Doctor was no stranger to danger. Why, then, the need for a disclaimer?

Finally, River decided to ask pointblank, “What are you talking about?”

Martha paused, a look of shock flittering across her face. “You really don’t know, do you? You don’t know what _happened_.”

Before River could answer, the door behind them opened and Doctor came out. “Hello, here you are. You two becoming friends now?”

“You know us, Doctor,” River replied easily, adopting a smile. All serious conversation had abruptly stopped, but River caught Martha’s stare covertly, a hidden somber mood passing between them that went unnoticed by the Doctor. “So much we can gossip about.”

“Oh?” he managed with a frown, clearing his throat. “Well, what exactly were the topics?”

“What do you think?” Martha answered teasingly, playing along.

The Doctor fidgeted with the lapels of his jacket, before he spat out in a nervous ramble, “Whatever River told you about a hallucinogenic lipstick and our first meeting – it’s all blown out of proportion. She tends to exaggerate. Lie, even. Unless, of course, she said it was _good_ kiss in which case I suppose she isn’t exaggerating in that one little instance. Anyway,” he paused, eyes drifting from one woman to another. “You weren’t talking about that at all, were you?”

Martha turned to River, laughing, “You kissed him with hallucinogenic lipstick?”

“Within five minutes of introduction,” River confirmed with a smile.

The Doctor’s shoulders deflated, scowling. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Not in this lifetime, sweetie.”

* * *

They took a cab back to his place, where River watched the Doctor reunite with his sexy car as if they were long lost lovers. She would’ve laughed at him, but the truth was the blue Aston Martin was absolutely _gorgeous_ and she didn’t really blame him about his investment in it. She’d already driven the car once, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to another ride if she could somehow manage it. The Doctor seemed a bit possessive, but River was sure she could charm him somehow.

“Do you even know how to handle a car like that?” River teased.

The Doctor straightened, glaring. “Of course I do, River. It’s _my_ car.”

“We’ll see about that,” she offered under her breath, grinning.

With a roll of his eyes, he walked her up the pathway and with exaggerated reluctance, let her up into his flat. It was on the 8th floor. Unlike the string of safe-houses they had stayed at these past few weeks, this place had a warm feeling to it, inviting. River carefully turned on one heel to survey the area. It was a bit messy, like he’d been in the middle of moving in, a pile of boxes left unattended to one side – but River had a feeling that he’d been living here for a while because he maneuvered through the place blindly without any lights. She stood in the foyer watching him, the beams of the streetlights flooding in to illuminate the otherwise oppressive darkness. When she finally switched a light on, the Doctor continued to steadily make his way through the house, pointing out features that he thought she might use, rambling away as he absent-mindedly gave the most pitiable of tours.

Mostly, River just swept a glance around and realized that it was a comfy place, full of little knickknacks and collectables, half of them meant for children. He had a full wall set up just for action figures, and River laughed, finding it ironic.

International man of mystery, and sometimes he was nothing more than a little boy.

She toed off her Manolo Blahniks, grateful for the reprieve after a full day of traveling and being on her feet. Setting the heels on the floor, she sat down on the corner loveseat and massaged her feet a little.

The Doctor came back from the kitchen. “Uh, do you need anything for dinner?”

She rolled her eyes. “Sustenance of some kind would be appreciated. If you’ve got something?”

He looked sheepish. “Sorry, got a bit carried away with the file earlier. Completely forgot about food.”

“How about ordering in?”

He clapped his hands and nodded. “Pizza it is! I’ll make dinner up to you tomorrow. Somewhere nice!”

“Oh, are you asking me out on a date, Doctor?” River teased. “How exciting.”

For a second, he grew flustered and a bit skittish, and River would never tire of that. It amazed her how sometimes he could volley back as good as he got, and other times be reduced to a bumbling teenager. Maybe it was because he could never tell if she was serious or not about her advances? To be fair, neither could _she._ It was a fact that River was becoming more and more aware of as time went on, because however this began, she couldn’t deny that the attraction she felt for the Doctor was genuine.

Terrifying, if she stopped to think about it.

River tried not to; she had enough troubles on her mind. Too much, in fact, and River didn’t want to focus on any of it for the rest of the night if she could manage.

After a beat of strained silence, she took pity on him. “Pizza would be wonderful.”

The Doctor nodded quickly, retreating back to the kitchen where he noisily rummaged through the drawers to find some take-away menus. While he got on the phone and ordered them dinner, River stretched out across the loveseat, rolling her shoulders and working out some of the kinks in her neck. Her luggage had been set aside near the foyer, and River looked to it, half tempted to change into something more comfortable – for once, not meaning that as an innuendo to _anything_.

She’d managed to catch a few winks here and there in the last few weeks, but mostly she had been running off adrenaline, conviction, and blessed caffeine. It wasn’t surprising for her to be so tired, but she resented it anyway. Normally she could function off a small amount of sleep for months on end, but perhaps it was the jetlag of traveling across six time-zones in a single day that had finally caught up with her.

The Doctor was rambling on about something or another in the background, but River rested her head against the cushioned sofa, letting the words sink into background noise. God knew that when he got started on something, he could motor on without stopping for a full hour. It was one of the things endearing about him, but River wasn’t up to it at the moment.

She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.

* * *

“—pepperoni or sausage, but I dislike too much meat on my pizza. It overwhelms the flavor, and don’t get me started on other food groups. I once saw bacon on a pizza. Bacon! Vile thing, bacon. Completely unpalatable to the taste buds, like apples or yogurt or-or-or beans. _Beans!_ Who came up with the idea of beans? I find them completely incomprehensible—”

He reemerged into the living room to find River fast asleep.

He hadn’t thought his thoughts on beans that uninteresting.

Quietly walking across the room towards her, he found the image she presented a little adorable – not that he’d ever admit that to River, because he liked having his internal organs remain on the _inside_ , thank you very much. She wouldn’t have found the compliment as complimentary as he intended because River Song conjured up a great many number of adjectives – smart, capable, clever, sexy as hell – but _adorable_ was a description he would not have applied to her before this moment.

He took a steadying breath, finally letting his rattling nerves calm down a bit. He had no idea why he’d gotten so worked up all of sudden, rambling away about food like that, but when she’d made that crack about a date, the ramifications of River Song spending the night in his flat had suddenly confronted him with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. At least, he _thought_ it was a crack, and not a legitimate remark. They had already roundly established that he had no idea where he stood with her, or if this thing between them was harmless or just very, very… _non-harmless._ All he knew was that her comment had struck a nerve, managing to tap into old anxieties, and the next thing he knew he couldn’t stop imagining scenarios of how the night could play out – a night alone with River Song. It brought about distinctly non-PG rated thoughts.

Of course, reality chose to be contradictory, and presented him with the one option he hadn’t thought of – that she’d fall asleep on his couch before they’d even had dinner.

Quietly, he grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch nearby and draped it over River’s sleeping form. It wasn’t an ideal position for her to sleep, but he didn’t have the heart to wake her and god knew if he attempted anything as foolhardy as chivalrously carrying to her a nearby bed, he’d likely only bumble the process and drop her somewhere along the way. He wasn’t the most coordinated fellow sometimes, but he rather River avoid learning the fact in so unceremonious an act.

Outside, the rain pattered against the rooftop, and the Doctor flipped off the lights to give River a softer environment to slumber in. His flat wasn’t much, and he would never claim to have been that attached to it because he spent ninety-percent of his time on the road anyway, on one mission or another. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t pleased that River felt comfortable enough in his place – and more importantly, with _him_ \- to just drop off like that. He knew she wasn’t one to let her guard down easily, around anyone.

After a beat, he shrugged off his jacket and walked down the hallway to his study. He switched on his computer and then reached into his pocket, retrieving the USB that held a copy of the _Raven’s Nest_ file. He’d taken a copy from Mickey, and needed to work on it for a while. The Silence’s plans were clearer, but there was still a whole lot that didn’t make sense.

The Doctor intended to figure it out.

* * *

When she awoke, the blades of light filtering through the drapes told her it was daylight, but a glance at the clock set on the corner table told her it was late in the morning, a quarter passed eleven. She groaned, shifting in the awkward position on the sofa, realizing she’d fallen asleep in the Doctor’s living room. River removed the blanket off her shoulder, one that the Doctor must’ve thrown over her at some point during the night, and scrubbed a hand across her eyes. She slowly pushed off the sofa to go find the washroom.

Instead, she found the Doctor’s study first, with the Doctor fast-asleep at his computer, head cradled on his arms, the monitor still on and running. For a beat, she wasn’t sure if she should intrude, but then she stepped closer and saw that he’d fallen asleep studying the schematics of the brainwashing device. He was a man dedicated to his pursuits, that much was for sure, but it warmed her to see he was taking Melody’s predicament with the seriousness it deserved.

She approached him with soft footsteps, then laid a hand on his shoulder, jostling him awake. “Wake up, Doctor. _Doctor._ ”

Despite her soft voice, he jerked awake with a start, glancing around blearily before focusing on her. “What? Wait, what?”

She smiled at his confusion, and blimey, he did present a positively adorable sight first thing in the morning, all groggy and bed-headed, even without the bed. His hair stuck up in various directions, and River had a moment of panic to fear the state of her own hair before she greeted, affectionately, “Hello, sweetie.”

He blinked up at her. “What time is it?”

“It’s eleven. Apparently I wasn’t the only one that didn’t make it to bed last night. Did you spend all night at the computer?”

“Hmm,” he mumbled unintelligibly. “Need caffeine.”

She patted his shoulder in sympathy, and said, “Get up. Get dressed. I’ll make us breakfast – or lunch, as might be more appropriate.”

“Make bloody dinner for all I care,” he grumbled, “just make sure there’s a kettle on.”

“My, my, someone isn’t a morning person.”

“I am, too,” he groused. “I’m a morning person, a night person, an evening person – I’m even a person that likes that bit in between three a.m. and five a.m. where you’re not too sure if it’s really early or just really late. I like _all_ times, River Song.” He paused, making a face. “Except for Thursday afternoons. I bloody hate Thursday afternoons.”

“Shut up and get dressed, sweetie.”

* * *

By the time he’d emerged dressed for a new day, she had his favorite breakfast ready – chocolate pancakes and blueberry muffins. He walked into the kitchen to find her moving about the place easily, as if she’d been born into this little bit of normalcy. It was a thing he’d never imagined of her – River Song, and her domestic side. Even if it was just morning breakfast, he liked seeing this new side of her because it somehow suited her – not as much as shooting and thievery and chaos-causing shenanigans, and that was a good word, shenanigans – but it suited her nonetheless.

He watched as she reached back in the fridge and brought out a bottle of lemonade. She closed the door with her hip while she twisted off the cap, and he eyed her curly hair and the new polished look. She had changed into a pair of tight-fitting jodhpurs, and a plain white-tee, topped off with a light jacket and some pretty nifty leather boots. All the times he’d known her, he’d never seen her wear something quite so form-fitting as those jodhpurs, and as she bent to retrieve something from one of the bins in his refrigerator, he couldn’t help but stare.

“Doctor,” she said, without turning around. “When you’re done staring at my arse, you mind popping some bread into the toaster?”

He grinned, shameless about the fact that he'd been caught red-handed, and went about doing as requested without a word. Halfway to the counter, though, there was a beep from the corner. He turned back, spotted his security monitor, and then frowned as he skimmed the readout.

“Uh, oh,” he announced, exchanging a look with River. “We’ve got company.”

Two seconds later, a barrage of bullets cut through the kitchen as someone opened automatic gunfire on them. The Doctor dove, catching River by the waist and dragging her down with him. He covered her body with his, glass and walls and cabinets shattering around them as the volley of bullets bite into everything.

A second later, there was a group of armed men moving in – bursting through his front door, breaking in through the living room balcony, crashing through the bedroom windows as they repelled in from the rooftop.

“The _Raven’s Nest_ file,” the Doctor breathed, immediately realizing the situation.

“Get to it!” River insisted, and reached for the butcher’s knife on the countertop.

He had a split-second to plan, but he moved off River and reached for the underbelly of the stove, where there was a hidden alarm button. He’d planned for an occasion just like this, always prepared for a worst-case scenario. As soon as he pressed the button, security measures engaged – the entire block’s power was cut, the computer in his study crashed, a distress signal was sent out to MI6 headquarters, and any radio communication within a fifty foot radius was cut off automatically. The armed guards would be blind and deaf now.

Meanwhile, the guards had entered the kitchen. He had a second to exchange a look with River, and there was no time to discuss it but they were working in sync now, both realizing what had happened and what needed to be done.

Everything that happened next happened fast.

Two guards approached from behind, and River reacted: she slammed a foot into one guard’s face and then flung him back into the other, knocking both down instantly. The Doctor moved down the hall, towards the study so that he could retrieve the USB drive and salvage something of the _Raven’s Nest_ file.

He looked back to find River fighting off four men at a time. One of them tried to use a rod on her, but River grabbed his arm, twisted at the wrist, and then hurled the rod towards one of the other assailants. She slammed the flat-heel of her palm up against another man’s nose, and the Doctor had just enough time to wince in sympathy at the poor fools that thought they could take on River Song, before he turned around again and pursued his goal. He knew River could take care of herself.

Halfway to his study, a group of three guards cut off his pathway but this was the Doctor’s home and he knew every inch of it. He ducked into the side-room, hopped through the adjoining bathroom, and then slammed the door open in the face of one of the approaching men. The soldier went down, and then the others followed when River had managed to get a hold of one of their guns and fired off a few rounds.

“I had them!” the Doctor insisted, a little belligerently.

“Sure you did, sweetie. Now get the file and move!”

He reached the study, grabbed the USB drive, and sprinted back to find River leaving behind a pile of fallen soldiers. She reached her luggage bag in the hallway, flung it open, and the removed two holstered guns from inside. She quickly strapped one onto her thigh, and the other she looped around her belt and holstered near her hip. He shouldn’t have found the sight so unbelievably _hot_ , and yet he did.

“You’ve got the file?” she asked, no-nonsense.

He snapped his attention to her face, and raised the USB drive in demonstration feebly. Then he froze, realizing something. “If they came after us here, then that must mean they knew we had this decrypted.”

River’s eyes flashed to his. “Oh, god. That means—”

“Martha and Mickey,” the Doctor breathed out sickened, in realization.

* * *

The Jones-Smith residence was up in flames.

River gripped her chair tightly as the Doctor took another turn. They could see the fire raging from blocks back, and neither of them had to second-guess themselves about the origin. He drove his Aston Martin wildly through the streets, and the occasion warranted a solemn atmosphere because River abstained from cracking any jokes about his driving skills. Probably because he was driving like a madman, cutting across shortcuts and through side streets, and River thought she could count on one hand the number of times that his foot went anywhere near the brake. Despite the seeming recklessness, River doubted they’d arrive with a single scratch to the polish of his car.

Her mind was awhirl with thoughts, and she kept thinking back to the fact that Martha was pregnant, and that if anything happened to her or her unborn child, River would never be able to forgive herself for dragging the younger woman into her affairs. It was Kovorian that was to blame of all of this, though. River needed to remember that, but glancing over at the Doctor and seeing the anxiety and panic on his face at the thought of his former partner in trouble, it was hard not to feel responsible.

When they arrived, the Doctor brought his car to a skidding stop only a few feet from the gathering crowd. The place was swarming with police and firemen. River could see the splatter of bullet-holes all along the sidewalk and the house itself was one giant inferno. They muscled their way through the gathering mob, and finally found Mickey being wheeled out on a gurney, headed for an ambulance.

The Doctor caught up with him. “Mickey! Mickey! You okay?”

Mickey had an oxygen mask over his face, and he fought briefly with his paramedic as he tried to pull it away to answer. “Martha,” he choked out, coughing. It was obvious he’d inhaled a bit of smoke from the fire. “We got ‘em all, but she was shot. She’s in the other ambulance.”

The Doctor paled, then nodded. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine! I’ll find out what’s going on.”

Whatever answer Mickey was going to give was cut short because the paramedic reapplied the oxygen mask, and he was wheeled away into the bay of the ambulance truck. For a moment, it looked like the Doctor couldn’t move, remaining rooted in his spot as he watched the ambulance drive away. He turned back to the raging fire, swallowing up the quaint two-story townhouse that River had just been inside earlier the previous day, and his eyes covered in a sheen of water. Guilt hung off of him like the rank odor of bad cologne, and River came to stand beside the Doctor, taking his hand in hers and squeezing once in reassurance.

“C’mon,” she said, urging the paralyzed man to move. “Let’s go find out how Martha is doing.”

* * *

His hand was urgently pressing into the small of her back as they entered the ICU; River honestly could not say how long it had been there before she'd noticed, but as soon as they were through the front door, they were stopped by a gathering of three guards, all dressed in pristine black suits and wearing shades. MI6 agents, River recognized, probably here for Martha’s protection. She was willing to put up with the inconvenience of a few minutes delay because of that, but the Doctor didn’t have that much patience in him. He flashed an irritated scowl, identified himself by his moniker, and threatened to have every single one of them demoted if they didn’t move out of his way immediately.

“Let him through,” a voice called out, feminine and authoritative.

River looked up, just as the Doctor called out in relief, “Donna!” The guards let them through without further questioning, and River quickly followed on the Doctor’s heels, recognizing the woman standing at the end of the corridor as the newest M of MI6, Donna Noble. The woman was around the same age as River, dressed in a crisp black suit and her long ginger hair fastened in a sleek ponytail.

“How is she?” the Doctor demanded.

Donna flinched. “They have Martha in surgery right now. It… it doesn’t look good.”

* * *

Several hours later, things had ground to a halt.

Martha was out of surgery, but far from being out of danger. The hallway outside the ICU was riddled with more security guards than River had seen even in prison, but she kept the remark to herself. She was still a wanted felon, and even though it was obvious Donna had come to some sort of understanding with the Doctor over the issue, River didn’t want to press her luck.

She still felt the aftermath tremor of adrenaline in her system, but she loaded up on caffeine and kept it coming for the others. She felt fairly useless, actually. The Doctor was beside himself with worry, and Donna had stuck around long enough to ensure security protocol was being followed to a “T,” even though such measures were way below her pay-grade. River had the feeling Donna may have known Martha personally, or perhaps worked on a few missions together, but she hadn’t been able to test that theory by questioning because soon Donna had been out the door – no doubt trying to play damage control on the situation from headquarters.

After a while, Mickey had been released from his examination, having suffered nothing more than a bad case of smoke-inhalation and a few bruised ribs. Through the room's blinds, River saw him sitting by Martha’s bedside with his elbow propped up on the armrest and his head in his hands. He looked devastated and wrought with emotion, and River didn’t have it in her to ask after Martha’s pregnancy, having already feared the worst.

While the hours slowly ticked by, River disappeared briefly to make a few phone-calls. The first had been to Jack, where she’d given him, Amy and Rory an update on the bleak situation, and then further instructed them to sit tight for the moment. Their plans to approach Dorian, the smuggler with ties to the Silence, down in South America would have to be put on hold. Kovorian had somehow found out about the _Raven’s Nest_ file, and that Mickey had been the one to decrypt it. Who knew what else the Silence knew? The only surviving copy of the file was now in the Doctor’s possession, and he was too distracted to take the proper measures.

Which meant it was up to River.

The crew that had raided the Doctor’s flat hadn’t been Silence members; River could tell by their gear and their tactics that they were hired guns, probably former military gone mercenary. Hired guns meant someone had put out a hit – and River needed to trace that thread as far back as it could go. So, she made a few phone-calls, finally reaching an old acquaintance of hers. Certainly not a friend, but an ally if the moment suited her. Vastra Nostranon was a female assassin that was located just outside of London. She had an ear to the ground when it came to things like the prices on people’s head, and if anyone would know who put out the order for this latest hit, it would be Vastra.

They agreed to meet at a specified place and time. Problem was, Vestra had a short temper and thin patience, and had demanded the met take place within the day. River hated to leave the Doctor and everyone here, but things needed to be attended to, and no one else was in the right state of mind.

She made her way to one of the chairs lining the hallway and sat down next to the Doctor. For the first time since she’d met the man, River felt on shaky ground with him, unsure if he was up to dealing with the messy details that needed to be sorted out. She didn’t want to burden him with anything more than necessary because it was obvious his thoughts and prayers were focused on Martha. She sympathized, but she didn’t have the luxury of waiting.

“How’re you doing?”

The Doctor offered a gruff laugh. “Peachy. Just peachy with a side of keen. Fantastic, even.”

He sounded hollowed out and empty. River switched from her seat next to him to the space in front of him, crouching low so that she could meet his downcast eyes. “Doctor, listen to me,” she implored. “This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have involved them. It always ends this way.”

“You couldn’t have known that—” She reached for him, and he flinched back.

“Of course I could’ve!” he exploded. “They’re the Silence. They’re everywhere, right? In every branch of the government, in every nation, in every bloody corner of the universe. Of course I should have known.”

“And what could you have done differently?” River demanded, voice firm and unwavering. “If you had to do it all over again, what could have possibly done differently? Mickey Smith is an MI6 agent, just like you. You said it yourself, he is the best tech analyst in the agency. And Martha is more than a capable agent—”

“She’s a medical doctor!” he cut in, harshly.

“Oh, my love, she is more than capable in the field,” River countered, “proven fact only hours ago in the way she dispatched a full team of armed men who raided her house. You trusted good people to do their jobs. The person who lies at fault for this is Madame Kovorian _alone_ , and you know it.”

The Doctor paused, unable to counter her words, or maybe he was just too tired to think of them. Guilt and recrimination hung off him, undispersed; River suspected there was little she could do about that. He was a man with an ego the size of a planet, and one of the drawbacks of that was that he took all setbacks as his own personal failures. She’d hate that about him, if she didn’t find it somewhat admirable too.

She sighed. “Doctor, where’s the file?”

He padded the left side of his jacket, indicating his inner-pocket. “It’s safe with me. It’s not going anywhere.”

She paused, then after a beat, nodded. He collapsed back into his seat, suddenly exhausted again, and it was remarkable how old he seemed. He had always seemed like an old soul because of the wisdom in his eyes, the wisdom of a man far older, but now he just _imbued_ it. It broke her heart, but she understood him in that moment better than ever before because she felt that same weighted wisdom for years now, ever since she’d lost John.

Briefly, she hesitated, before she placed a hand on his chest, and then to cover for her pick-pocketing him, she stretched forward and pressed her lips to his in consolation. The embrace caught him off-guard, and though she had intended it as a chaste kiss, simply lips-on-lips, a split-second later something in him must’ve _snapped_ because he caught her by surprise with a firm hold at the base of her neck; he pressed her closer to him with such startling possessiveness that River could only lift her head to comply. Lips parted, teeth clanked, and then River lost herself to the intensity of the kiss as his tongue slipped inside her mouth, and there was no ascribing either the words chaste or conciliatory to this kiss. It was slow and forceful and it made River feel like free-falling, a sensation she was well-familiar with, but never in this context.

Before her mind could play catch up, he pulled back, releasing her mouth once, before pressing his lips briefly back again. Heat flooded her. She was breathless afterwards, and she swallowed, looking up at him.

“I’m _not_ sorry about that,” he told her, firmly.

River focused on breathing, overcome.

“Doctor,” a voice interrupted the moment. They both looked over to see one of the MI6 agents waiting in the wings, and River lifted to her feet quickly. “Ms. Noble is coming back in less than ten minutes. She says she’ll need to speak to you in private at that time.”

The Doctor stood, clearing his throat. “Fine, fine.”

With his back to her, River took the moment to straighten herself, suddenly self-conscious. She could’ve blamed the kiss on the actions of a distraught man, but it wasn’t that and she knew it. They’d been dancing around this since the moment they’d first met, and whether the day’s toil had precipitated the courage behind the kiss or not, it didn’t matter. With a sharp stab of rising panic, she realized hadn’t felt this way about a man since… _John._

The guilt of that realization made her move away quickly, slam her eyes shut in mortification as she whirled around. She needed to get out of there. With a start, she realized she had the USB drive in her hand, having palmed it before the kiss had taken a decidedly unexpected turn. It hung off his key chain, and she curled her fingers around it, suddenly reminded of what she needed to do within the next hour.

When she turned around, the Doctor was watching her. For a girl that had formed a habit of kissing random men to get what she wanted, she was for the first time in her entire life at a loss for words. No quip, no brazen smile. She felt thrown.

“I have to go,” she finally managed, pointing in a random otherly-direction. “Some fresh air.”

The Doctor flinched, and then nodded, quickly stammering out, “Right, of course. Yes, you… you probably need to get some fresh air. Hospital air in here, all antiseptics and sick people and stale coffee. Not a very fresh atmosphere at all—”

“I’ll be back,” she spoke over him, smiling. It was adorable when he did that, but her heart ached at what he might be assuming because of her sudden departure. Furthermore, she wasn’t even sure if his assumption would’ve been correct or not. She was suddenly so confused. “In a few hours,” she promised. “Then we’ll… we’ll talk.”

His shoulders dropped, a fraction of an inch in tension. “Talk. I’d like that. Talking is always good.”

He licked his lips, and suddenly River wasn’t thinking about talking at all when it came to that mouth. And she blinked, realizing she _really_ needing to get out of there. Her hormones were getting the better of her. With a step back, she smiled and then turned, quickly leaving the waiting room, then the floor. Each step she took away from him, she became more confused, not less.

Even years later, she still felt the loss of John like it happened yesterday. River tried not to think about it most breathing moments, to shut away the pain and _endure._ It was the only way she knew how to survive, but it was always with her, beating away with every breath, the grief a living thing alongside her heartbeat. A love like that didn’t just didn’t fade, and the fact that she could find herself growing attached to another man made her feel horrible. Treacherous, even.

What was she _doing_ with the Doctor?

And why did it feel like it was a thing beyond her control?

She shook her head, trying to dispel the distractions. River didn’t have time for this. Not now. Not today. A few MI6 agents were watching her, no doubt given instructions to follow her every move. With a glance down at the USB drive in her hands, she took a breath and left the building, smiling. The USB had come with a set of keys to the Doctor’s car. It’d be easy enough to lose the MI6 escort service.

She was more worried about the woman she was going to meet – Vestra.

* * *

River had chosen the most crowded time and most crowded place she could think of – the opening weekend of the English Premiere League, with Manchester United playing the Spurs. The fans were rambunctious and loud, and River parked her aston martin at the agreed upon spot and waited. If she needed to get lost, she had a car that could accelerate 100 kilometers per hour in 5.2 seconds flat, and even without that, she’d be within running distance from a railway station, and there was a low-end shopping district nearby that could provide cover. It wasn’t a particularly affluent area, but the recent London riots from the previous summer had upped the security a bit, and River was on the look-out for any guards. The people milling about before the start of the match were dressed similar to what River had donned on, a hoodie and a football scarf in the local colors of white and navy blue.

She didn't know why she’d chosen this place; it wasn't as if the people and potential witnesses would do much to dissuade a woman like Vestra from striking out if she _really_ wanted, but River took what measures of precaution she could.

River leaned up against the car, arms folded across her chest and fingers tapping restlessly against her elbow, when Vestra finally presented herself. She was tall and slender, sharp cheekbones and the look of a woman that could’ve easily been a supermodel in another lifetime. As beautiful as Vestra was, she was twice as deadly. River straightened as the other woman approached.

“River Song,” Vestra greeted. “I heard you were making some noise down in South America, last I checked.”

River hid a flinch; it wasn’t surprising that her efforts in Brazil had gotten on the radar, but she hated being so conspicuous. It led to complications. “You know us; well behaved girls rarely make history.”

Vestra took a glance at the aston martin, offering a low whistle of appreciation. “So,” she said, refocusing. “What is it that you want?”

“Information.”

“And what do I get in return?”

“A favor.”

“A favor from River Song?” Vestra laughed. “My lucky day.”

“I’m serious, Vestra. No questions asked, no limit. You ask it, and I’ll do it. But right now, I need information that will lead me to Madam Kovorian. They tried to kill me.”

“Several times,” Vestra agreed. “I was even approached for this latest job.”

River straightened, hand falling to her side just in case she needed to reach her weapon quickly. “And?”

Vestra smiled. “Relax, Song. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already. I turned down the job because the price wasn’t worth the trouble.”

“I _do_ so like causing trouble.”

Vestra rolled her eyes, and reached for her inside jacket-pocket – and River tensed. Vestra offered a small nod, moving slowly, and emerged with a packet of documents, neatly wrapped up in a vanilla envelope and tied closed with a red string.

“Oh, you gift wrapped it for me? How nice.”

“I knew what you wanted the moment you called me,” Vestra explained, tossing the folder towards her. “Everything you want is in that file. Review it, but beware. The Silence isn’t the only problem you have.”

“Someone else wants me dead? My, my, I've never been so popular.”

“You tell me. Rumor has it you’re running with MI6 now?”

In the distance, the crowd started cheering loud and crazy in the arena; apparently the game had started. A few of the people milling about took notice and started their way towards the stadium, and River waited a moment for the fever to die down before addressing Vestra again.

“They’re not all bad, y’know? Some of the agents are quite yummy.”

Vestra laughed. “I’m sure. The Doctor, for one, and your fiancé was another, right? John Smith.”

There was a long beat of silence, where River considered pulling her gun just on principle; she offered another fake smile instead. “I’m rather curious how you know that, considering only maybe a handful of people know about my engagement at all.”

“You know me. I make it my business to know these things. It’s what makes me good at my job. I know my marks, and I know my opposition. And sweetheart, I’m here to tell you that you can’t even tell your friends from your enemies.”

“What are you talking about?”

The moment was interrupted as a few pedestrians wandered nearby, in between their little stand-off. Vestra waited until they had cleared a few dozen yards before she started talking again. “You really don’t know, do you? Men. Gotta hand it to you, Song. You have an interesting type. But this is one of the many reasons why I’m into women. Men keep their beds warm with _lies._ ”

There was something about the way Vestra was saddling up sideways to a topic that was making River nervous. Vestra was normally a straightforward type of girl, and the fact that she was being cagey about something had an element of foreboding to it.

“What are you talking about?” River repeated, growing terse.

“You don’t even know who the Doctor is, do you?”

River stepped forward. “Yeah? And you’re gonna tell me?”

She shrugged her shoulder. “Depends. You gonna kill the messenger?”

“I might kill you right now if you don’t spit it out already,” she threatened, getting angrier by the second. It was stupid, threatening Vestra like that, but something about her mannerism was provoking River. She almost didn’t want to know what the secret was. “Spill, Vestra. What do you know about the Doctor?”

“He’s connected to your former lover—”

“Of course they have a connection. They both worked for MI6 as double-o’s.”

Vestra raised an eyebrow at the interruption, but remained calm. “This one’s more intimate. You ever find out how 0010 died?”

River paused, starting to get a sickening feeling where this was all headed. “Of course I did. He died because of the Silence.”

“That’s only part of the story,” Vestra said. “Ask 0011 about the rest.”

What Vestra was implying was only all too obvious now. River stood rooted at her spot, unwilling to make the small leap of conjecture towards it. No, it wasn’t possible. She wouldn’t believe it—

“The Doctor is the one responsible for your fiancé’s death,” Vestra declared. “He’s the agent that killed John Smith.”


	9. Chapter 9

  
The hours blurred together like they did in a dream. The Doctor hunkered down in the waiting room, preparing himself for the long haul. He’d already made a brief call to Amy to update her on the situation but apparently River had already taken care of that. The listlessness was as aggravating as the uncertainty of Martha’s condition; the Doctor had never been good at waiting out time. The itch to  _do_  something, to have the answers or hunt down the solution – it was underneath his skin, alive and tingling, and he needed so badly to find an outlet. Instead, he sat against the far wall in the hallway outside the ICU, and waited.

He  _hated_  waiting.

There was a brief disturbance of noise, and he turned to find Donna exiting the ICU wing. The hallway wasn't that large, but as the door swung open to let her out, she stopped again and called out for Mickey, who was hovering outside Martha’s room rather than in it. Mickey looked deep within his own head, exhausted and emotionally-spent in only an all too familiar way; the Doctor quickly set his stale cup of coffee down and stood, eager for any news. Before he could make a move, Donna caught his eye and shook her head quietly. She exchanged a quiet few words with Mickey, laying a hand in comfort against his arm, and then left to walk towards the Doctor. The ICU doors shut after her, and for a moment, the Doctor didn’t allow himself to breathe. 

“He talked to the doctors,” Donna informed. “Martha is out of danger, as is her baby.”

The rush of air out of his lungs was of two distinct natures – relief and shock. The relief won out, as he absorbed the news that Martha would be all right, but as he collapsed back on to the uncomfortably hard plastic chair, it was the shock that made him speak, “She’s pregnant?”

Donna raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, see, that’s what happens when you lose touch with close friends.” The quiet reprimand was well-deserved, but the Doctor gave Donna points for not pressing the issue because a second later she was nodding her head to the side, gesturing away. “C’mon,” she said. “I need to talk to you in private.”

He glanced around. Aside from Mickey, who may as well have been a man adrift in his own universe, and the two security agents on either exit, there wasn’t a soul around. He followed Donna willingly anyway, as she dragged him in the direction of the first likely door that she saw, and then made a small, tired noise in the back of his throat when he saw it was another examination room. He hated hospitals – so foreign and sterile and full of hopelessness. What could be more nauseating than a place where a person came to die?

Donna dropped a file folder onto the patient bed, and turned to face him with an arched eyebrow. “River gave our men the slip.”

He smiled. “Not surprised.”

“In  _your_  car.”

His smile dimmed a bit. “Oh. Well… and then there’s  _that._ ”

He quickly padded his pocket, realizing his keys were missing – and then a second later, caught up to the fact that the USB drive was gone as well. He closed his eyes in mortification. Like a finger-snap, he realized River’s quick hands had been at play when she’d kissed him. He almost appreciated that, in a professional manner, but the quiet jolt he felt on a personal level was distracting. 

Donna was watching him, keenly. “I don’t believe it, but there’s actually a person more reckless than you out there in the world – and now that you two have teamed up, god help us all. Doctor, do you even know who she is?”

He shook his head, having expected this argument to arise at some point or another – there were only so many times he could brush off Donna’s concerns about aligning himself with a wanted felon. He just wasn’t up to the discussion at the moment, even in light of River’s recent pick-pocketing, so he scrubbed a hand through his hair, and said, “Any chance we could have this conversation at another time?”

“I wish, Doctor. I truly do. But there’s something you need to know.”

“Oh, goodie,” he said, frowning, grabbing a nearby chair and collapsing. “This sounds to be promising.”

Donna looked sympathetic, but he knew that look in her eyes. It was time to get serious, and she wasn’t going to be duped out of this conversation just because he threw her a puppy-dog look or two. She had built up immunity to that a long time ago. 

She took the stool opposite of him, and sat down. “Martha contacted my office earlier today, before this nightmare unfolded. I was busy, though. So she sent me a secured message through the prescribed channels. I’ve spent the entire day confirming her intel.”

“Confirming what?”

“Martha recognized River from somewhere, and apparently against her own better judgment, decided to disclose it to me in case it would cause complications. Thank god for that, because you need to know this. Doctor, River Song went by another name once upon a time. Mels. No known last name for the alias.”

He blinked up at Donna. “I imagine she went by a few aliases.”

“This one was special.” Donna’s eyes softened in sympathy. “Doctor, River is the same woman who was engaged to 0010 when he died.” 

For a brief beat, there was a pause where he thought,  _this cannot be happening_ , a twist of vertigo which made him doubt the physics of this revelation. But he found his mind already working ahead of his feelings, connecting the dots – 0010, John Smith, the man who’d died six years ago. 

The same man that the Doctor had  _killed_  six years ago.

* * *

The rain was a welcomed distraction when the Doctor left the hospital. He turned his collar up, pulled a wide-brimmed hat over his head, and walked through the city streets for a few blocks. He roamed down the main street in the same general direction that most of the cabbies seemed to be going, but didn’t stop to take a lift when a few taxies slowed to offer. So he suffered the fate of a drowned rat? The Doctor knew he deserved it, and far worse. He didn't have to wander long before he found himself in a familiar neatly groomed park, complete with tall swaying trees and a sand-filled playground. His flat was just another two blocks away. 

The Doctor found himself lingering before a picturesque white gazebo. 

The vagaries of fate: funny how it had a sense of humor, of irony – as though it just  _liked_  screwing with his life. River Song had been Mels; Mels had been engaged to John Smith; and John Smith had been the Doctor’s predecessor, one of the finest agents that MI6 had ever known. And now, what? The Doctor was perhaps hopelessly entangled with the same woman whose fiancé he’d killed. Somewhere up there, some form of deity, if such a thing existed, was laughing its arse off at the expense of the Doctor. He normally didn’t believe in the existence of a higher power, but tonight – oh, he surely hoped someone was getting some form of entertainment out of this all. 

The history that lay between the Doctor and John Smith had never been thorny until the day John had died. It was that same day that had destroyed his working relationship with Rose Tyler, and forced the Doctor into withdrawing from shame in any number of other relationships, including those with Martha and Mickey. The Doctor had often mused that he probably got along with Amy and Rory so well because they hadn’t been agents at that time, and had never known the shameful thing he’d been forced to commit in the name of saving millions.

Amongst a long history of horrible deeds that the Doctor had done for his country, killing John Smith had always been one of a singular nature. The Bradwell nuclear power station was now a disused facility located at the mouth of the Blackwater River in Essex, but six years, four months and twelve days ago, it had been the primary target of a terrorist plot. The Doctor had only been brought in at the last second, and the leading agents on the field had been Rose and 0010. Despite what had purported to be a long-drawn out affair, the efforts of the terrorists group had ended that day with only one casualty – John Smith’s.

Still, it was the Doctor’s hand that had forced the sacrifice, and for that alone, he knew he had to answer to River Song. How was he going to explain it to her? She had the right to know, but would he even be able to look in her the eye? He doubted it.

It was after one in the morning when he finally picked his way home, thoroughly soaked and hair damp with rain. He rode the lift up to the eighth floor, where the entire hallway and his flat was cordoned off with sticky yellow-police tape and enough bullet-holes to render the structure of the building all but alarming, if not unstable. The constables had come and gone, though, because Donna had made the necessary phone-calls to cover up the matter. Tired and footsore and feeling foolishly lonely, the Doctor came to his door, ripped away the tape, and jammed in his spare key – the door swung open without his prompting, revealing his loft inside, then fell flat and heavy to the floor with a thud.

The place was a disaster zone. Worse, even. Disaster zone was a charitable description. Perhaps catastrophe or an acrimonious state, or  _cacrimonious_  state, just to mix things up a little. Though disaster zone was probably apt enough of a description, now that he thought about it. The corridor and foyer was riddled with bullet holes, there was broken furniture everywhere, and the windows and balcony doors had all been kicked in or smashed because the assault team from earlier in the day had made a merry time of repelling in from the rooftop. The curtains wafted in and out in the airy breeze, and the rain outside pattered undisturbed.

“Home, sweet home,” he mused to himself.

And then, from a dark corner, a voice called out, “Hello, sweetie.”

* * *

Clad in a tight red dress and kitten heels, River sat quietly in his dark living room, the sliver of light from the window offering just enough light to illuminate the bottle of whiskey she’d been nursing for the better part of the evening. She had her legs stretched out on the sofa, the length of her thigh heavily exposed because of an indecently long slit in her dress; she knew she might’ve looked seductive and relaxed to the untrained eye, but she was sure the Doctor would be able to discern the tension in her body. She hated to get drunk – losing control was a liability she couldn’t often indulge in, and not just for the practical reasons concerning the risk of being caught off-guard in her sort of life – but there were certain times when she still allowed herself the luxury of a drink or two.

She was several glasses passed that, tonight.

The Doctor turned around, and she mused in her drunken state, with a hint of acidic humor in it, that he was a sight to behold even in the darkness. He took a hesitant step inside before he took off his hat and ran a hand through his damp hair; his trench coat was dripping wet, droplets of rain splashing onto the cement floor in an undefined rhythm. He stripped off the trench coat, revealing a dark fitted suit underneath that was equally as soaked. She certainly had a type, didn’t she? Tall, dark and handsome. River really needed to send the recruiter for M16 a bottle of champagne because they had  _exquisite_  taste. 

The thrum of the growing storm outside reverberated through the vacant space and echoed off the walls, and at this point it served as good a distraction as any. The dilapidated building was a good place to have this conversation as any other, but for a beat, River wasn’t even sure how to begin. The Doctor, for one, seemed equally as lost.

“Y’know,” she finally said in a soft voice, musing, more to herself than to him. “I’ve spent my entire life without trusting  _anybody_. Grew up in foster homes, shuffled around during my teenage years, even spent a bit of it homeless. Then I figured out I had knack for things – illegal things. Fell in with the wrong crowd, and learned all over again that I shouldn’t trust anyone. Then John came along…” She paused, smiling up at the Doctor without a hint of genuine mirth. “Funny, isn’t it? I’ve only ever trusted two men in my entire life. Just  _two_.”

“River,” he began, but trailed off.

“Tell me I wasn’t a fool to trust you, Doctor. Tell me I wasn’t wrong to trust just  _once_  more in my life.”

His face washed over with guilt and recrimination, and River’s eyes watered just staring at him. She waited for the Doctor to say something, but there was a bitterness to her silence, an impatience. The imposition of explaining herself, that she had discovered his dirty little secret without explaining about hers, was one she wasn’t willing to endure. It didn’t matter that the Doctor didn’t know 0010 had been her fiancé; such details didn’t merit any change to the picture before her.

“You know?” he finally breathed out, in realization.

“Know what?” she offered, sitting up. She swirled her crystal wineglass. “That you killed the man that I loved?”

“River—”

“I just want to hear you  _say_  it. I want to hear it from your mouth. All these lies, all this bullshit – let’s end it. Right here and now. My name is River Song, but I wasn’t always called that. Six years ago I went by another name too. My name was Mels, and I fell madly in love with a man named John Smith. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, and said, “Let me explain.”

“Save me your explanations,” she offered, faintly, with just the barest hint of anger in them. “That’s not why I’m here.”

He straightened, eyes dark and dead-on as he met her gaze. “What  _did_  you come here for, River?” 

The answer was obvious. She had a gun tucked under the pillow of the sofa, and another resting a few inches from her heels underneath the sofa. One word, one simple confirmation, and River knew what she had to do – the only thing she  _could_. It sent the first twinge of conflicting emotions rolling through her body. River had never thought of herself as a woman after bloodlust – she’d gone after the Silence because they’d not only killed the love of her life but they had kidnapped her child as well. But this? This had absolutely nothing to do with right or wrong; this wasn’t about helping Melody or undoing the damage that had been done – there was no getting John back. This was vengeance, straightforward and simple. 

She would be the woman that killed the Doctor. 

The Doctor must’ve sensed it too, the restrained hostility, the ingrained anger of six years grief in her. “If you came here for an execution, just do it and get it over with.”

“You think I won’t?” she threw back. “You think just because we shared a single kiss in an abandoned corridor of some hospital, that’ll I’ll what? Show you mercy? Show you compassion? It meant nothing. You mean  _nothing_  to me.”

He paused, then prompted in a cool voice, “You’re slipping. I wasn't always able to tell when you were lying, River.”

 _That_  snapped her to her feet. “Say it,” she demanded, voice rising in pitch. “Admit the truth for once! You killed him, didn’t you? Say it!  _You killed John!_ ”

There was a beat of silence, and then the Doctor admitted in a soft voice, almost dejected, “Yes.”

In a split-second, she was across the room, jabbing a right hook out against his chin. The Doctor’s head struck back, but he rebounded swiftly by grabbing her right arm and twisting so that River couldn't try again. She stuck out her foot, trying to trip him but he responded with a block and pushed her back. He sent her stumbling backwards. The alcohol had been a bad idea, but River felt feverish anyway, like a maelstrom had risen and there was no stopping it now. 

She advanced, kicking out, winging him in the shin with her heel. The Doctor made a sharp noise, and River threw another right punch but he ducked and bobbed away. He sidestepped her next two moves, and blocked a kick, like he wasn’t fighting back, but just defending himself. 

She threw another jab, but he dipped underneath and stepped away. “Fight,” she growled. “Fight back, damn it!”

“No,” he declared.

That just made her  _angrier_ , but the more aggressive she got, the sloppier. He took advantage, and what started out as a full frontal assault had quickly become a game of sharks circling around each other, and only one them was willing to bite. The only thing River could think of was how John must’ve looked before the Doctor had killed him; how terrible it was that she’d kissed the man that had killed the father of her child; she’d  _trusted_  the Doctor, and worse yet, he’d made her…  _feel_  things for him. The anger and resentment mixed in with guilt and horror, and it all became too much.

“Goodness,” she tried, feigning a wry tone, “is killing you going to take all day?”

“Why?” he tossed back, just as easily. “You have somewhere to be?”

She got in his face, slamming him against the single pristine brick wall still left standing in the room. She pinned him with an arm braced against his chest, and she did it with enough force to make him wince and grunt; all she had to do was reach out and be done with it. She could break his neck, or put his head through the wall – an endless number of ways to do it – but she paused. 

“C’mon, River,” he grunted out, sensing her hesitation. “You know me. Do you really think I killed a fellow agent in cold blood?”

River shivered and felt her mouth start to twist, but she could still remember all those times he’d shown himself to be a better man than almost any other she’d ever known. For all her faults, she had always been a good judge of character, and even now, even despite herself, there was a voice in the back of her head that was whispering this didn’t make sense. That there was more to this picture, if River would only stop to ask.

He leaned up against her arm, but didn’t try to break her hold. He swiped slowly at his lower lip, smearing blood; with his pupils dilated and her breath coming in short pants, she realized they were a dangerous combination. The Doctor’s weight was heavy, but he wasn't coming any closer than River was allowing as surely as if she were holding him by a leash. 

They both knew that River was more than capable of killing him. And yet – yet, she wasn’t doing a thing.

“What happened?” she finally choked out, brokenly. “What happened that day?”

“It was his life or the life of millions of others,” the Doctor explained. “We were out near Essex at the Bradwell nuclear power plant. A terrorist group, unknown at the time, had taken over the facility. I realize now that it had been the Silence. They flooded the power plant and nearly caused a meltdown, but we were able to redirect the radiation. Unfortunately, there was only one place for it to go – the radiation control booth.”

Her eyes watered. She already knew that John had been trapped inside that booth when the power plant had reached critical mass. He’d died exposing himself to 500,000 rads of deadly radiation. 

“It was a choice that I made,” the Doctor continued. “Kill him, or overload the plant. It was a split-second decision, and I had plenty of people screaming in my ear not to do it. Rose, the other agents – but he knew. John  _knew_  what needed to be done, and so did I. He died, I lived – and I’ve had to live with that for the rest of my life.”

“Christ,” she choked out, because that- _that_  wasn't what she had been expecting. It stung, and it was horrifying, but it wasn’t cold-blooded murder either. She just-just didn’t know what to believe anymore, spun about like a dreidel with no direction. “How do I know you’re telling the truth now? So many lies, Doctor. So many lies between us.”

“Look me in the eye, River,” he said, imploring, still pressing his weight against her. “You  _know_  me. Maybe you don’t know everything  _about_  me, but you  _know_  me.”

The words were damning, but  _true._  His hair was still damp with rain, and she could smell him as a familiar mixture of spice and musk and a hint of that oncoming storm. There wasn’t just anger charging the atmosphere between them – it was far more complicated than that, and even now, River recognized it. 

“Oh,” she choked out, bitterly. “I hate you.”

He studied her for a beat, and then said in realization, “No, you don’t.” 

As if to prove the point, he reached forward to kiss her before she could reply. The sudden shock of his lips crashing down on hers stalled all thoughts. His hands framed her face, and she wanted to resist – she  _should_  have resisted – but a feeling surged through her and River didn’t want to think anymore. She didn’t want to think about painful memories, or conflicting feelings. The sting of this latest revelation was too heavy for her to endure. So when the Doctor kissed her, she didn’t allow a moment of rationality to reassert itself, because most important of all, River didn’t want it.  _Too much, too much, too much_  – it was all too much. She broke under the thought.

Arms moved up his chest and snaked around his neck, and she gave back everything he took and more, the kiss intense and brutal. Tongue toying, teeth biting, the kiss was almost a continuation of their fight if it weren’t for the fact that both were moving toward the same conclusion. Since the first moment they’d met she’d known he would be trouble for her. She never let anyone get to her this easily, prided herself on her detachment even when she was enticing a man for her own agenda, but this felt once again like something beyond her control.

He flipped her around so that her back was against the wall. He fisted his hand around her curls, and she scraped fingers against his damp scalp and dragged his head down to hers again while her tongue invaded his mouth. The desperation and demand was an albatross to her grief. Fear and doubt and pain melted away, suddenly replaced by a self-governing entity that fed on potent desire alone. Lighter kisses followed as he trailed down her face, along her jaw line, dipped into the crevice of her neck and suckled at her collarbone. Teeth scraped against her skin again and his mouth scorched wherever it moved. The entire thing progressed at an alarming speed, and she felt a very prominent hardening press against her inner thigh. 

He was heavy against her, a weight she had not felt of a man in so long – years, and she screwed her eyes shut and refused to think about John. The Doctor’s broad shoulders and arms were solid beneath her grip as he pushed her up against the wall, fingers fumbling with the material of dress. 

There was no talking. There was no flirting. They never paused for even a brief second. In all her idle fantasies and speculations, she’d never thought their tension would come out with this sort of  _recklessness_. 

She concentrated instead on the hard muscles straining against hers, on the deliciously warm breath on her mouth, hot and suffocating. He drew up the hem of the dress higher and higher. With her arms around his neck, hands in his hair and his mouth relentless on hers, they refused to separate long enough to allow the action to be done in one quick move, so instead he abandoned the pursuit and redirected. A tiny muffled whimper escaped her lips when he got his hands under her dress, pushing the material of her knickers aside. Not off, but aside. 

When a finger slipped in and rubbed, she burrowed her face into his shoulder. “Doctor,” she breathed out, and he grunted in return, a deep, dark possessive noise like he liked how she moaned his name. The thrill of arousal rushed through her, but she couldn’t get beyond that thought. Couldn’t breathe, because he continued to steadily fuck her with his fingers. Spots of colors danced before her vision. She arched her body into his touch, demanding more. More contact, more friction – just _more._  “Yes,” she gasped. “There, there, there—” she clutched his lapels and almost sobbed into his shoulder, lower body working against his hand, “—don’t stop. Yes, yes,  _yes._ ”

He was watching her keenly – those dark eyes of his sharp and knowing; he was a different man altogether like this, none of that affectionate youth in him, no fumbling hands or blushing redness. Oh, yes, he knew exactly what he wanted and he went after it with the same sense of doggedness that had earned him an intimidating reputation despite his youthful persona. Fuck, she had always been attracted to powerful men.

She wrenched his neck back so she could nip lightly at his graceful throat, along the sensual lines of his neck, and then bit down hard enough to leave a faint mark. He jerked in shock, but the groan he made when she did it had been dark and full of wanting. She soothed the mark with a lap of her tongue, hands still tangled up in his damp hair, and suckled at the spot where his pulse beat.

“River, River, River,” he breathed out, huskily.

She clamped her eyes shut, and shook her head.  _No talking. Not now._

Her hands started the pursuit of undoing the cinch of his belt buckle, first groping the material in the front of his trousers so that the Doctor choked out another grunt, removing his fingers from her. She nearly sobbed at the loss, but then she undid the buckle, opened the button of his trousers with a flick of her wrist, and slid his zipper down quickly.

Though she could barely manage more than broken breathing, she shimmied completely out of her knickers and then kissed him again. When she wrapped a leg tight around his thighs, he responded in kind by greedily taking on her weight, one hand braced under her thigh and the other palm-flat against the wall beside her head. She shoved aside his boxers, freeing him. She clutched his shoulders tightly as he shifted her hips into place and then drove into her, hard and fast, rather impolitely, but River gasped, a high-pitched noise of pleasure escaping as the air left her lungs. She rested her head against the wall, dress bunched up at her waist, and then he began moving. 

Her muffled gasps melted into his harsh breathing, and she encouraged a fast fuck, restlessly moving her hips against his. The Doctor’s finger traced a path over the dip of her collarbone, around front to the hollow of her throat, lower across the hard plane of her chest, just above her breasts. He tugged slightly at her red dress, revealing the black bra underneath, and made a noise of frustration.

He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “I want you  _naked_  the next time. I want you wrapped up around me in bed sheets and nothing else. I want to  _see_  you.”

She could do nothing but hum, too lost to the sensation of him fucking her to respond, much less think about the promise of a next time; would there even be a next time? She didn’t think about that – couldn’t. All she knew was she couldn’t have pulled away from the Doctor in that moment if the fate of the entire fucking universe depended on it.

Outside, the storm continued to build. Over his shoulders, River found herself mindlessly watching the drapes billow in and out of the broken balcony door; the entire apartment was a mess, the perfect metaphor to go alongside her fucking the Doctor. She almost lingered on the thought, but then the Doctor was speeding up the rhythm of his thrusts. Harder, more persistent – he was trying to draw this out but she doubted it’d last. Not this time. And sure enough, within minutes his thrusts grew more frantic and desperate, and the uncontrollable need to find his release inside her was finally driving all restraint out of him. 

“C’mon, River,” he breathed out, gruffly.  _“Come for me.”_

She trembled above him and around him, her hands clutching desperately to his clothing so tightly that her knuckles turned white with strain. She moaned his name again, and that just made him fuck her harder, faster, pistoning into her; she came with a sudden release that robbed her of breath. Her muscles contracted and spasmed wildly and then he was groaning, thrusting urgently into her a few more times in an effort to quickly find his release. The climax swept through her like a tidal wave, shuddering waves of pleasure working through and shaking her body, and as she came down, he was still thrusting into her. 

She swept a hand across his back, encouraging him until he jerked into her once more, the spurts of his release filling her. He collapsed against her, spent, head resting in the cradle of her shoulder, mouth aligned over the nape of her neck. 

There was a deafening moment of silence afterwards. The rain pelted in the background. Her breath was evening out, as was his. He dropped his forehead to rest against hers, and she fought off the after-tremors of her orgasm in the same moments as she tried to deal with the consequences of what had just happened. She thought if either one of them spoke now, it’d only be damning words, too honest for them to deal with, because this, when she came here tonight, had been about getting even, getting  _answers_ , but now she realized the night had exposed far more than that. 

Disheveled and in a state of post-coital glow – now, she realized her foolish mistake, a twinge of apprehension, of  _oh, god, what have I done?_ , but River didn’t respond to that voice just yet, couldn’t because the smell and weight of him was still too near. So, River did the only thing she could think of. The only thing she could do, under the circumstances. When he pulled back, she took a breath, smiled, then pulled her arm back and socked him with a hard right cross. 

He spilled back to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

River had quit long ago, but the occasion merited some exceptions. 

She pulled free a small pack of Marlboros from her purse, and shook loose a single cancer-stick from the carton. It was a horrible habit, but what was one more damning thing to add to the pile for tonight? She lit a match, holding the flame to her cigarette, then inhaled and blew out a puff through the open window. She was perched on the edge of the ledge, looking out at the view of London from just eight stories high. If she looked down, there was a dead-drop straight to the pavement below. Normal people would’ve gotten vertigo. She was getting a bit wet from the spatters of rain coming in, but mostly River ignored that and took another drag of her cigarette. She threw a leg across the ledge, and let it fall outside the building, swinging it idly in the rain. 

Her dress was ruined anyway. What difference did it make now?

When the Doctor came to, he groaned and then let loose a string of curse words, finding himself handcuffed to a heating pipe along the far wall. “Why am I handcu-Why do you even have handcuffs?”

She smiled. “Oh, Doctor, wouldn’t you like to know?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “River, I know you’re upset but—”

“A little late to calm down, isn’t it?” she declared, wryly. “Funny thing is, I can’t decide what’s worse - how horrifying it is, what we just did – or that I’m not that horrified by it at all. What sort of person do you think that makes me?”

He just sat there in the corner of his ruined flat, on his knees with his back braced against the far wall, one hand chained to the piping. Her knickers, she realized, were still left abandoned on the ground not far from him. She steadied herself with a long exhale and took another drag.

The dark bangs of his hair hooded his eyes until he looked up at her. “River, we didn’t do anything wrong.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “I just shagged the man responsible for killing the father of my child. I know we both walk the line of dubious morals more brazenly than most, but I think even you and I can agree that this is a little fucked up, even for us.”

“I don’t regret it,” he told her, flatly.

Neither did she – that was the problem.

“Doctor,” she said, softly. “Do me a favor? Don’t come looking for me again. This is goodbye.”

Before he could respond, she leapt from the building from eight stories high, and plunged into the night.


	10. Chapter 10

Eight months later, he still hadn’t heard one word from River.  
  
It was late December when the Doctor found himself at home, in desperate need of a distraction. It was a new place for him, not the old one that had been shot up and destroyed; his former neighbors hadn’t been too keen on having him stay on board after that and it wasn’t like he could really blame them for the disgruntled attitude. He packed up a few of the belongings that hadn’t suffered a  _complete_  demise and moved cross-city to a small flat that only had one neighbor. Craig Owens was literally the nice guy next door, the embodiment of the cliché wrapped up in an adorable package; he’d mostly kept to himself at the beginning, but the Doctor had taken an instant liking to him.   
  
Probably because the Doctor was looking for all things that didn’t remind him quite so much of one curly-haired femme fatale, and that was a pretty hard sell considering almost everything reminded him of River these days.   
  
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a bit strange?”  
  
The Doctor looked over at Craig, raising an eyebrow. “They never really stop,” he mused softly. “Hand me that wrench, will you?”  
  
Craig obliged, reaching across the pile of tools. They were out in the back garage, working in freezing cold temperatures on the Doctor’s favorite pastime: fixing and fiddling with his Sexy – which, when phrased like that, sounded a bit perverse, but really, it was the most harmless of distractions considering the Doctor routinely blew stuff up when he got too restless. Craig was keeping company, bundled up in three layers of clothes, with mittens and earmuffs; there was a measly small heater in the corner next to the telly, hardly good enough to heat up the place, but Craig had been insistent on joining the Doctor late in the evening as he began fixing  _this_  and _that_  on his priceless car. His affable neighbor was completely oblivious to the fact that the Doctor was actually adding exploding hubcaps. Nifty things, exploding hubcaps. Took out any ill-intentioned tailgaters, and in his line of work that was always a plus.  
  
Craig went over to the heater, standing right in front of it to warm his hands, then idly flipped through the channels on the telly. “You’ve got a car worth more than most people’s houses, and you’re fixing it yourself. Nutter. Complete nutter.”  
  
The Doctor smiled; his Sexy was always in need of a few upgrades, and fixing and fiddling always managed to ease his nerves. The new pieces proved to be exactly where he had thought, in a government warehouse on the west side of town. He’d spotted them long ago, lying half hidden among a jumble of other items, but the Doctor had seen their use despite their neglect. He’d immediately started making plans for some added accessories, but this weekend was the first chance he’d gotten to putting those plans into action. His car was always famous for having slick and super-equipped gadgetry – and the more exotic, the better. Twin rocket launchers, maybe? To add to the exploding hubcaps. Yes, that sounded like a marvelous idea.   
  
“I know what I’m doing, Craig,” the Doctor answered with a smile. “She’s in good hands.”  
  
Craig hesitated for a beat, wandering back over. “You know, Doctor, I’m middle-aged, not in the best shape, and stuck in a deadend job. I know why I’m home on a Friday night, but why are you? Bloody hell, you’ve got an Aston Martin, and have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You can’t always have been this lame. What happened to you?”  
  
The Doctor looked up, and he could’ve given any number of answers, but he found himself saying, almost immediately, “A woman.”  
  
Craig’s face fell a bit, in sympathy. “A woman?”  
  
“Hell,” he mused wryly, remembering River. “In high heels.”  
  
“Oh, man. Tough break-up, eh?”  
  
“I had bruises, Craig.”  _Literally._  The Doctor made a face, then snapped out of his haze, shaking the wrench at his friend pointedly. “And you’re home on a Friday night because you’re too chicken to ask Sophie out on a date already, not because of any of those other rubbish reasons you listed out.” He stripped a wiring in his hands, frowning. “And what I do with myself on the weekends is my concern, and I want to  _relax._  And you know what’s not relaxing?  _Women._  Women, with their logic-defying hair, and their flirtatious laughter, and those big mysterious pasts that you can’t help but want to unwrap because it’s an enigma, and honestly who doesn’t like an enigma? But then they turn out to be more like a Rubik's Cube than an enigma, and those things are bloody impossible to figure out. Women, the Rubik’s Cube of the human species."  
  
Craig stared at him. “Man, it must’ve been a  _really_  messy break-up. But she must've been attractive, yeah? She’s gotta be to put that look on your face.”  
  
“The more attractive they are, the more  _deadly._ ”  
  
The Doctor frowned again, then went back to working on his car. Even though Craig kept at it for a while, eventually he gave up on the topic and starting watching the telly again. The Doctor’s mind was preoccupied, though. Annoying, given the fact that he’d come out here to the garage to  _avoid_  thinking about River. It had become something of an obsession, really. Eight months, and he hadn’t heard a single peep but that hadn’t stopped him from looking for her. Originally he’d followed a thin trail to Barcelona, but River had given him the slip early on. After that, he’d gone to Zurich in vain, nearly caught up to her again in Edinburgh, flew down to Puerto Rico on a hunch, heard rumors of her in Washington D.C., Budapest, Crete; the latest trip had been to Puerto Vallarta, but that had turned out as unproductive a lead as everything else.  
  
He didn’t know what was more difficult to track down: the Silence or River Bloody Song.  
  
Meanwhile, other agents were beginning to talk. He would’ve ignored it, but one of those people also happened to be his boss. Donna had been sympathetic to him about the entire unfolding drama with River, but when the months began stretching out with little progress, it was clear her resolve to let him handle the matter by himself was wearing thin. The Doctor was a few weeks away, if he was lucky, to being assigned a replacement to take over the mission. To hell with that. As much as he knew that without River he was playing footloose and fancy-free with trying to put an agenda to the Silence, he still had skin in the game. He just needed to  _find_ River, talk to her – if he got that, he could course-correct on this entire bloody mess.   
  
Until then, he really didn’t have much choice but to continue his pursuit.  
  
“Hey, look,” Craig called out, suddenly. “They’ve recovered the Crown Jewels!”  
  
The Doctor’s head snapped up, then turned to the telly where the female news anchor had just begun to report,  _“The theft took place nearly nine months ago while the Crown Jewels was on tour in the royal national exhibition at the Museum of London. Authorities and the museum director were all baffled over the theft, and virtually none of the leads panned out. Which is what makes the Crown’s reemergence so sensational.”  
  
“That’s right, Marie,”_ another anchorman agreed.  _“The Crown Jewels turned up at the museum, exactly where they were taken from. No one knows how they got there, and officials are tight-lipped about their theories. Remember, this Crown is worth over a quarter of a billion pounds. That’s a lot of money that someone just let go.”_  
  
“Wow,” Craig said, amazed. “Isn’t that unbelievable?”  
  
The Doctor frowned, wiping his hands on a dingy towel as he walked closer to the television. “Yes, it is.”  
  
Those Crown Jewels had been stolen by River, and then recovered by Madame Kovorian in the subsequent botched raid on the Mycroft Towers in Rio. Which meant Kovorian had returned the Crown back to their original owners. Why? The Doctor had trouble figuring it out, but he knew the Silence had grand plans. The Crown Jewels had remained missing for nearly a year. What had happened during that time?  
  
“Hey, Craig. Close up shop when you’re done here? I just remembered, I’ve got some work to take care of back at the office.”  
  
“What? Now? What sort of emergency requires a financial advisor to go in on a Friday night?”  
  
In his defense, the Doctor did feel a bit shameful about all the lies he’d told Craig about his life, but what choice did he have? “Oh, well, you know my job! Numbers and figures – the world runs on them. Without me, the universe could end!”  
  
Craig rolled his eyes, and then nodded. “Doctor, anyone ever tell you that this job of yours will be the death of you?”  
  
“All the time, Craig. All the time.”  
  


* * *

“One Absolut martini up, and another Dewars on the rocks.”

River liked the sharp angles in this new bar. It felt clean and crisp, minimal with luxury, the kind of bar where she could sit and have a drink and think about the future without constantly being approached by lonely men with wet appetites. Plus, the bartender was quick with his work, and cute to look at too. She should have tried this place out a long time ago. 

A moment later, her company finally arrived. “Imagine my surprise when after years of silence, I get a call from a ghost. And you picked a bar?”

River slid one drink across the countertop, and palmed the other. “I allowed for the possibility that either one of us might feel the need to get pleasantly plastered before the night was over.”

“What I’m here for that bad?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I need to pick your brain, but first… Cheers.”

“To what?” 

River swiveled in her stool to look her company up and down with a smile. Rose Tyler was a young gorgeous thing, with perfect iron-induced curls in shiny blonde hair, meticulous makeup, and a tight silver dress that had a slit right up to right thigh. She made every head in the bar turn to look, including River’s. 

“To our new alliance,” River offered in a sly voice.

Rose tipped an eyebrow up, then nodded, sliding into the seat next to her. “I’ll drink to that,” she agreed, then clinked glasses and downed the martini in a single gulp. River followed after, feeling the burn of alcohol down her throat like battery acid. “You sure about this meeting?” Rose asked anxiously. “I want to help any way I can, but the Silence knows about me. This could be risky, just us meeting here.”

Everything was risky, but River needed someone within MI6 to get her information and she’d already burned all other bridges. A quiet jolt of pain arose at the thought of the Doctor, but River locked down the memory and refocused again. 

Rose was an old acquaintance from over a decade ago, the only person in John’s life to ever know about River, or of their engagement and their subsequent child. River knew he had trusted Rose implicitly, a trust forged from years working side-by-side with each other as partners in the agency. She was even aware that once upon a time there had been burgeoning feelings between the younger agent and John. It had never amounted to anything, mainly because circumstances and their lives had aligned in ways that made the timing impossible. Instead they had remained professional partners and close friends, but still… River had deduced enough of John’s feelings for Rose to know that he had been in love with her, once upon a time, long before River had entered the picture. 

She would be lying and claiming to be a better person if she said it hadn’t made her the tinniest bit self-conscious, back then, to see the two partners working together, maybe even a tad jealous. River hated it, but the feeling had been there. And it was mutual, too. Rose had always been friendly enough, but River was good at reading people, particularly the way Rose had always been extra-cautious around John whenever River was present. 

River now looked back at that and mainly thought,  _what a waste_.

There was no point in petty jealousies now. 

“I needed your advice,” River said. “About John.”

Rose raised an eyebrow again, but kept silent.

“I found out how he really died a few months back, and the entire thing has made me look again at John. At what happened when he died. I don’t know. I get the feeling that I’m missing something, something obvious. John knew the Silence were after him. I know him, and he’d never just go down without a fight. He’d have a plan—”

“He was human, River,” Rose cut in, a flash of pain and sympathy in her eyes. “He could die just like the rest of us.”

River took another sip of her drink, needing a moment to steady herself. “But he  _had_  to have something planned in the eventuality of his death. You knew him. You knew how he thought. If John had the instinct that the Silence was about to kill him, he would have left behind something that would’ve damned them. Information, or something else. Instead, we got nothing, and I was left to start from scratch in learning about the Silence. Does that seem right to you?”

Rose paused, then admitted, “No.”

“ _Exactly,_ ” River pressed. “He had something, somewhere – something that would help me figure out the Silence and what they want with our child. John would’ve never left without leaving us some insurance.”

There was silence for a long beat after that, while Rose thought about it. “Why me?” Rose suddenly spoke up. “Why come to me now?”

River offered a smile. “Because John trusted you, and so that means I do.”

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that,” River affirmed. 

“Y’know, John trusted the Doctor too.”

Rose had said it casually, but River didn't react that way. They'd never talked about what had happened: how River had been set up for a murder she didn’t commit, how Melody was taken away from her, and most importantly how the circumstances shrouding the details of John’s death had unfolded. Rose knew all about how the Doctor had been involved that fateful day, but she’d never mentioned a word of it to River; for a beat River wondered if she should bring it up now. 

“The Doctor is still looking for you,” Rose continued, gently. “He hasn’t stopped. Everyone in the agency knows about it.”

“Gossip amongst spies,” River teased, casually enough. She motioned to the bartender for another drink. “That can’t be healthy.”

“It’s sometimes the only way we learn things about each other. Gossiping and spying on our fellow spies. It was how I first learned of your engagement, actually.” 

River tensed. Rose absently flicked her glass with her fingernail, listening to its note, buried underneath the animated chatter of the patrons nearby plied up with booze, and River just watched her. Two days after John had proposed, Rose had put in a request to transfer out and get a new partner; the timing wasn’t coincidence. River felt responsible for creating that wedge between them, but that had been a sticky situation all around. The Bradwell power plant op was supposed to be Rose’s last assignment with John – and River supposed, it truly was, wasn’t it? He came home in a body bag after that, almost unrecognizable because of all the radiation poisoning. 

Closing her eyes against the haunting memory, River refocused. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about the Doctor?” 

“What was the point?” Rose returned. “The Doctor had done what he’d  _had_  to do, and John would’ve done the same thing if the situation had been reversed. I don’t blame the Doctor for what happened. Though, if you ask him, he’ll tell you that it destroyed our partnership and we’ve never recovered since.”

“Did it?”

Rose paused. “Yes, but from the Doctor’s own guilt working, not from any indictment from me. He took John’s death hard – harder than I think most people did, present company excluded, of course.”

River kept silent, taking another sip of her drink. She, too, didn’t blame the Doctor – but it took months for her to realize that. She also knew she’d never be able to _forget_  it, either. Her complicated relationship with the Doctor, last punctuated with that brief and yet intensely sexual interlude, had been something constantly on River’s mind, even after all these months spent apart from him. The news that he was still chasing after her wasn’t at all surprising – in fact, it caused a faint flutter in her stomach, not entirely unwelcome. It was such reactions that scared her. There wasn’t a day she didn’t go without thinking about him, and that was a distraction to the goal at hand. She couldn’t afford her judgment to be affected like that, and her judgment was never more in question than when the Doctor was involved.

“Oh,” Rose whispered in realization, studying River. “It isn’t just the Doctor. You like him back, don’t you?”

“It’s…  _complicated_ ,” she found herself confiding, then shook her head and swiveled in her chair to face the younger woman. “Back to the matter at hand—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rose cut in, blinking. She cleared her throat, refocusing, and all mentions of the Doctor dropped like a ton of bricks. After a beat of contemplation, Rose shook her head and sighed. “I can’t think of anything. Look, when he first died, I had the same thought that you did. I went through  _everything_  of his. There’s nothing. I recovered his computer, I cleared out his –  _your_  – house, checked all of his accounts. I stripped everything clean, and I never found anything. If he left anything on the Silence, he didn’t leave it any place where I could find it.”

“He was hunting the Silence for  _years_ ,” River insisted. “He had accumulated data on them. I’m positive of that.”

“Whatever he did with that information, it’s gone,” Rose countered, with sympathetic eyes. She offered a frustrated shrug. “I mean, at this point it’s been six years. A lot of that stuff would’ve been destroyed or—” she broke off, hesitating.

“What?” River pressed, eagerly. “If you’ve got an idea, let’s hear it. I’ve been wracking my brain about this for months, and I’ve got nothing.”

“Well, if John wanted to leave something, he would’ve made it obvious – in plain sight. That’s his style, y’know? Obvious, but innocuous. But he also would’ve made sure that it wasn’t something that could be easily destroyed.”

“What are you thinking?”

Rose looked up, in growing realization, “You still have your engagement ring?”

* * *

The Bank of London had its main branch located in the city’s financial district on Threadneedle Street. It was one of the biggest banks in all UK. The building was over four hundred years old, and looked it, too, with architecture both looming and gothic. River had once entertained the idea of pulling a heist there, because the Bank was the endorsed custodian to the official gold reserve in all of UK and a few other countries, but the vault was situated beneath the city, covering a floor space greater than that of most skyscraper’s heights. It had been such an impressively secure facility that instead of trying to break in, River had indulged in opening up her own account there, and leaving behind a few precious items in their safe deposit boxes.

John’s ring was amongst those items, her prize possession. 

Rose accompanied her to the bank that same evening, just as it was about to close. The man at the front desk was an inhospitable host, disgruntled at the idea of possibly staying late because of a last-minute clientele. Reluctantly, he led River and Rose to the back vault, and there she removed her own key to retrieve the security box. All the paperwork was under the name of Ms. Midge Hymns Loots, an anagram of Melody Song-Smith. Getting in wasn’t a problem, because River was always careful about maintaining her aliases, but the paranoia of MI6 recently learning of her engagement to John might’ve complicated the issue a bit. Still, it was worth the risk. 

She wanted to get in and get out as quickly as possible, so her nerves might’ve been a bit thin when the bank employee took his time in removing the box.

“Oi,” Rose cut in, apparently equally as anxious. “You mind speeding up a bit?”

The employee gave a scowl, and finally removed the box from its cave along the wall. He led them to a privacy room, and then left quickly with some disgruntled mumbling under his breath. 

River opened the box. Her engagement ring was worth an obscene amount of money. The setting was simple – a single princess cut diamond in the center. It was the size and clarity of the pink diamond that made it so unique. She had no doubt that John hadn’t paid a single cent for such an extravagant diamond – had rather, probably, acquired it through his various connections in the business.

“Wow,” Rose remarked, whistling. “John really outdid himself with this.”

River smiled, sliding it on her ring finger for a moment just to admire. “He always did try hard to impress me. Never wanted to  _act_  like it, but you could tell. He succeeded spectacularly in this instance, but then again, he always did.”

"You never actually told him that, did you?"

"Oh god, no," River returned, with a feigned look of horror. "The man had an ego big enough to circle the the sun. He didn't need much encouragement."

Rose shared a giggle with her, and for a beat, River forgot entirely about their goal, too wrapped up in the bittersweet memories of a lost love. But the moment quickly passed, and River finally dislodged herself from the trip down memory lane and removed the ring again. Rose retrieved a small scanner from her purse, and together they examined the item. A second later, the scanner confirmed there was indeed something in the ring, hidden in the setting – a microchip.

* * *

“Sir!” The Doctor turned around to find one of the junior agents rushing to catch up to him. “Sir,” the kid wheezed out, out of breath. “There’s just been a hit on the system. That trace you set up on possible River Song’s aliases? One of them just came up. Bank of London on Threadneedle Street. Ms. Midge Hymns Loots.”

The Doctor absorbed the information, and smirked.

* * *

On the microchip were files and a recording. 

It took a while to retrieve, but River managed to get it to work. Her hands were trembling slightly with anticipation. All these years, all this time, John had left her information, possibly even a message – and she’d been too abused by grief to even realize it. He must have known she’d never rid herself of this ring, but he’d underestimated the pain it also represented. Tucking it away in some secure box was the least she could do, but now River thought about how much time was wasted because of her petty sentimentality. She should’ve realized earlier that John would never have left her in the dark all alone – not without some sort of guiding light.

Turning away from the thought, River typed in a few of the last commands and hit enter. Rose crowded around behind her while River sat at the console, and the monitor in front of them froze for a second before revealing a recording of her long-lost love. 

_“This working?”_  John tapped the camera a bit, frowning. He looked achingly familiar, with a mess of hair standing in all different directions, thin-framed black glasses perched on his sharp-edged nose. He was wearing his favorite dark brown suit with blue stripes, and behind him, River recognized their bedroom as the place he’d done the recording.  _“— oh, okay. It’s working. Good. Okay.”_  He paused, uncertain.  _“Well, hello. If you’re watching this, that means – well, it means nothing good, that’s for certain. In all likelihood, I’m dead. Can’t say I have much to say about that, except that I hope it was a dignified death and nothing silly like slipping on a banana peel or something. If it was, then lie and put something more respectable on my gravestone, would you?”_

River rolled her eyes, while Rose offered a stifled laugh.

_“Anyway, if you’re watching this – River, I’m sorry. I’ve done the most horrible thing I could to you. I’ve left you, and what’s worse, I’ve left you to raise our family alone. Our little girl – and who knows, maybe we’ve got more kids than just the one? You could be sitting here watching this with a whole football team of kids.”_

“Football team?” Rose repeated, dubious. 

River exchanged an eye roll with Rose. “The man was daft if he thought we’d have anymore than two.”

_“Well, I guess this is my letter to you. There’s so many things I want to say, but it’s best if I just get to business first. Before I go, here's a list of instructions for what needs to happen after I die. One: don't hurt anyone over my death. Whatever happened,_ happened. _You’re a strong woman, River Song. Sometimes scarily so, but I need you to let go of whatever grudge or pain that my loss has caused you. I know you, and I know how you can see all the world as an enemy sometimes. Look beyond that, River.”_

“Oh, John,” River whispered out.

_“Two – no, wait, this should be first, actually.”_  John frowned on the monitor, the grainy image flickering briefly.  _“Switch the order of priority on this, okay? Anyway, it’s this: take care of Melody. I’m sorry for leaving you and little Melody alone; I haven’t even met her yet and I already love her with all my heart. I’m sure she’ll be brilliant. Your looks, my brains, how could she not? Oh, blimey, I hope she has your hair.”_  River wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t because her eyes were prickling with unshed tears because she’d already failed him on this task.  _“Take care of her, and I know how hard that will be because I suspect that she’ll be sought after by the Silence. I’ve managed to make a big enemy out of them, River. I don’t think they’ll stop at anything to see me in the grave, and I fear Kovorian and her Machiavellian ways will backlash onto Melody. Kovorian will try to hurt her just as another way to get back at me for all the damage I’ve done to their movement. I’m sorry for leaving that mess at your feet._

_“Three: don’t trust anyone. The Silence are everywhere, and they’ve got spies doing their dirty work. Don’t trust anyone – unless of course it’s someone you are_ positively _sure you can trust. And,_ well _, actually you can trust any of my partners too – Rose, Martha, Donna – any of them really. Especially Rose. I know you two don’t quite get along, but you’d be a spectacular duo if you ever just gave it a shot. Plus, you’re both scarily brilliant women who love to make fun of me, so I’m sure you’ll have plenty to talk about. Just don’t make fun of me too much, okay? Seems a bit impolite to talk about the dead that way.”_

Rose gave a watery laugh. “Idiot.”

_“So, yes, to recap: number three was don’t trust anyone except people you’re sure you can trust, and also Rose, Martha and Donna.”_

“This is going to go on a while, isn’t it?” Rose mused.

“Oh, yes,” River agreed.

_“Four – there are attached files in the microchip. The Silence are just beginning to develop a machine that can brainwash and control children on a massive scale, possibly global if the signal is seen by a large enough audience. They’re brainwashing children, River. Stop them. The files attached include schematics on a device that can counter this measure. Hopefully we’ll never need to use it, but if you do, then make sure the calibrations are precise. I can trust you to figure them out.”_

River looked briefly to the open documents on the side-monitor, seeing just a glimpse of what he was referring to. A way to counter the brainwashing effects – even from beyond the grave, John was still able to help protect his child. River nearly wept at the relief.

_“And last, but not least: live, River._ Thrive _. Don't ever forget that I love you, but don’t live in the past either. I’m sorry, my love. I’m laying this all at your feet, but don’t use my death as an excuse to close yourself off – don’t you_ dare _. Live, River. Love again, laugh again, and be happy.”_  He paused, reaching for the camera again. _“That’s it, I guess. Goodbye.”_  The screen went blank in the next second, the moment hushed and filled with such bittersweet sorrow – and then came back on again. _“Oh, wait!”_  John said in a rush, appearing again.  _“Almost forgot! When you’re in front of the device that counters the brainwashing, it’s very important that you don’t blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're still brainwashed. The subliminal message is fast, incredibly fast. Don't turn away, don't avert your eyes, and don't blink. Good luck. And… I love you.”_

The footage went blank again, and this time didn’t come back on.

* * *

An hour or so later saw the two women walking outside in the snow, not far from a crowd that was caroling to  _Deck the Halls_. River wrapped her thick coat tighter around her, wrapping her arms at her waist; she still felt a bit unsteady from the aftermath of seeing that footage of John – she’d almost forgotten the sound of his voice, and the particular tone he’d get when he rambled on like that. 

In that one message, he’d laid out so much information, but it was more than that. River felt a piece of herself mend a little, a small sense of closure that wasn’t much and yet somehow meant the world anyway. She’d never managed a goodbye to him, his life cut short unexpectedly. Now, his parting words felt like a soothing balm, and she kept going over every single one of his five points in her head. She’d needed to rewatch the footage just in case she missed anything, but mostly River knew she’d play that message over and over again just for sentimental value.

She also had her work cut out for her. Even just a few minutes studying the schematics of the anti-brainwashing device (for lack of a better name), River realized the figures and logistics were incredibly complex and maddening. She had a head for numbers, but she thought that perhaps John had overestimated her skills in this particular case. She wasn’t as much of a genius as he had been – and River suspected that perhaps it’d take a mind of his caliber or the equivalent thereof to get the calibrations as precise as they needed to be.

“You’re deep in thought,” Rose observed.

River hummed. “A lot to think about.”

Rose turned on a heel and faced her. “I think this is where we separate. If you need anything else, I’m a phone call away. I want in on this, River. The Silence took a partner from me that same day they took the father of your child. I want to help.”

“Then help you will,” River promised. “I’ll keep in touch, but we’ll have to be discreet.”

“Right,” Rose nodded. “Because the Doctor is still searching high and low for you.”

The Doctor. The name brought about that familiar rush through her, and she remembered John’s parting words just briefly –  _love again_  – and then slammed the thought shut before it could betray her any further. She tried to regain some of her composure, but stripped bare of her normal balance, all of River’s emotions felt like they were scraping along the surface – one poke and the dam would break loose. 

“Until next time,” Rose said.

River smiled and bid farewell, and then watched the younger woman walk away. River had a moment to realize that she had been so caught up in her own musings that she hadn’t yet stopped to consider what it had been like for Rose to watch that video – a video of John saying goodbye to another woman. To look at Rose now, it would seem like it hadn’t affected her at all, but River knew what a mask looked like – she’d been wearing one herself for so long.

The walk back to her hotel came at a slow stroll. River watched the nightlife unfold of Christmas time in the heart of London. Buoyed by the brief resurgence of John’s comforting presence, and the goal of a clear path towards mitigating some of Melody’s trauma, River felt her spirits lift. She couldn’t even explain it in words, but suddenly River felt optimistic about her new path. 

Until, that was, the very second that she was stopped by security guards at the front lobby of her hotel, the Claridge. “Ms. Loots?” a clerk spoke from behind. “There seems to be some trouble with your credit card. There was a security flag raised on it.”

River froze, mind already leapfrogging four steps ahead. They’d found her out – she needed to get out of there, quickly. MI6, the Silence – it didn’t matter who was after her, but she needed to escape. She dropped the tension in her shoulders and approached the clerk at the desk with a brazen smile.

“Nonsense,” she replied. “I’m sure it’s all just a mistake. My husband will be along in a few short minutes to clear up the matter. I’m sure you can wait for him?”

The Clerk briefly hesitated, “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but we have a policy. Red flags such as yours require we immediately contact the authorities—”

“Nonsense!” River repeated, airily. She was already opening her purse to covertly remove her hallucinogenic lipstick. “It’s just a mix-up, I assure you. Wait until my husband hears about this! He’ll have it all sorted out—”

“I’m right here, dear, no need to shout,” a voice suddenly spoke up from behind, causing River to freeze. “What trouble have you gotten into now?”

It was a familiar voice, full of smugness and amusement, and before she even turned around, River knew who it was. She got her confirmation when she turned on her heel and found the Doctor in the lobby of the hotel, dressed in a dapper suit with a dark blue shirt and silver cufflinks. He was wearing a bow tie, too, and the item should've clashed horribly with the suit but River found it strangely charming. The smirk on his face, however, was full of arrogance – far too much for a man she had last left handcuffed to a heating pipe with his trousers practically around his ankles. He approached her with a…  _swagger_  (no other word for it, really), and then had the audacity to press a chaste kiss to the corner of her lips.

He lingered against her mouth for a moment longer than necessary, and River inhaled the subtle scent of his cologne as well as the baser smell that was just all  _him._ Her body betrayed her mind by flashing back to that brief interlude in his flat, but River straightened quickly, fighting off a shudder with an admirable amount of composure.

“Hello, sweetie,” she returned with a disarming smile. “Nothing too troubling,” she answered his question. “Just a bit of an issue with my card.”

Without taking his eyes off her, he reached for his inner jacket-pocket and pulled free a wallet, flipping through and then laying out a single credit card on the counter. “Put the bill on here, and don’t bother to call the authorities.” He flipped open his wallet to flash a badge of some sort, though River couldn’t see it. “They’re already here.”

“Detective Inspector,” the clerk returned, quickly straightening. River somehow managed to restrain her eye-roll. “Of course, I’m sure we can take care of things discreetly.”

“Appreciate that,” the Doctor returned, still studying River. “Now, dear, I can’t remember – what plans did we have for dinner tonight? In or out?”

She looked to him, pretending to muse over the decision with an eager smile. To outsiders, it may have seemed like a flirty look – but she was sure the Doctor could read whole  _books_  in the look she was giving him with her expressive eyes, and none of it promised a repeat performance of their last meeting. Walking sex in that suit or not, she wasn’t going to be blindsided. She hated being caught off guard, a matter of both personal and professional pride. It didn’t matter that what she felt for the Doctor was quite possibly the single most convoluted and unexplainable phenomena she had ever experienced – he  _distracted_  her, muddled her thought processes about until she couldn’t even tell which way was up. It didn’t take a genius to realize that was the last thing she needed at the moment. 

It was precisely why she’d jumped off an eight story building eight months ago.

The Doctor, of course, just had the nerve to widen his smirk. “Dinner  _in_ , then,” he declared. He spoke to the clerk without ever taking his eyes off her, “Mind sending my wife and I some of your finest steaks? Feel like a prime rib tonight. You, dear?”

River smiled; two could play at this game. “Steak sounds good, sweetie,” she agreed, then pressed up against him, practically hanging off him like a woman about to go into heat. “But I’m far more interested in dessert,” she purred into his ear. She turned to the clerk. "Send up an extra can of whip cream, would you?"

The Doctor smiled back at her, accepting her silent challenge like he was only too eager for it. Eight months of separation, and the air between them was sizzling with restrained emotions. River couldn’t even identify any particular one, mainly because the range from anger to lust to fondness to annoyance seemed to run together.

The Doctor was enjoying this far too much, the cat that caught the cannery, but apparently he hadn’t learned yet how much River disliked being prey in anything. If he thought for one second that he could bring her in or rein her in, well… she had her own thoughts on how the evening would unfold. While the clerk finished ringing up the bill and the Doctor turned to give his signature, River turned away and covertly applied a nice blood-red layer of hallucinogenic lipstick.

“Ready?” the Doctor asked, offering her his arm.

She tucked her hand under his elbow, and smiled. “Whenever you are, sweetie.”


	11. Chapter 11

  
  
By mutual assent, the byplay between them had fallen into a hush as they rode the lift up. Even without the benefit of an audience, River kept him in close proximity, a hand tucked under his arm, the length of her body pressing ever so gently at his side, not weighty, but certainly  _felt._  There was no misunderstanding what was likely to happen as soon as they got behind the closed doors of her suit, because despite appearances, she had no intention of falling into the Doctor’s arms again.   
  
But for now, River drew her eyes to his face, studying his profile in an indulgent moment of vanity. “You’re looking well-rested,” she remarked, arching an eyebrow. “Surprising, because a little birdy told me you’ve been doing quite a bit of traveling lately.”  
  
“What can I say?” he answered, turning to face her. If either one of them had shortened the distance between them by even three inches, they would’ve been kissing. “The job’s a demanding business.”  
  
She smiled. He smiled back. They both knew he’d been traveling so much recently in an effort to catch up with her, and it thrilled her a little – flattery always did. When the lift finally pinged open at her floor, River stepped away from him, drawing her purse out again to retrieve her key. At the end of the hall, there was a single room situated at the corner for the penthouse; River always liked to live big, even when she was lying low. It was one of her vices – one of many. But what was life without those?  
  
She swiped the card and opened the door, letting herself in and the Doctor was only a few steps behind. She flipped a switch and let the soft glow of the foyer light illuminate the rooms; two bedrooms, a specious parlor, a living room, marble flooring, high-vaulted ceiling, and a grand fireplace in the corner. The evening view of London was nothing short of breathtaking, lit up and dancing with city lights and a wintery haven that felt straight out of a fairytale. Before River could comment, she felt the jolt of the Doctor’s hands at the nape of her coat, then realized he was shrugging it off.  _Ever the gentleman._  She allowed him to strip off the thick dark coat, revealing the long black dress she had on underneath, but despite herself, that first split-second, River wanted to sink back into his touch and let the moment linger longer than necessary. But then—  
  
He had her pinned against the wall the very next second.  
  
“Oh, Doctor,” she cooed. “You’re getting all forceful on me. Not that I mind.”  
  
“Yes, I remember,” he threw back. He wasn’t smiling at her, suddenly all business, but she could tell by his dilated pupils that she wasn’t the only that was having a little fun. She inhaled sharply when his hand coasted along the outline of her dress, feeling her out, and even though River knew exactly what he was after, when he skimmed along her inner thigh, she gave him a wicked smile. “Allow me,” he said, and pulled free the small handgun she kept strapped to her thigh. “Oh, you bad, bad girl.”  
  
“You know me,” she remarked with a wink. “There’s a knife strapped to the other end,” she told him, helpfully. “If you want to get that, too.”  
  
His lips twitched upwards a little in amusement. He retrieved the sheathed knife a moment later, finished searching her, and when he found her bereft of any other weapons, finally stepped back. “We need to talk,” he announced, growing somber. “I figured it might be good to get the deadly weapons out of the way.”  
  
The next second, she had him slammed up against the opposing wall. “Sweetie, haven’t you learned?” she warned, but then her hands softened, as did her face, as she began searching him out for her own peace of mind. “I  _am_ the deadly weapon.”   
  
“I don’t carry any guns, River. You know that.”  
  
She laughed, stumbling along a long hard shaft at his waist. “Why, Doctor, is that a sonic screwdriver in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”  
  
 _All right. So she was shameless._  
  
He smirked. “Why can’t it be both?”  
  
 _No more than he._  
  
She pulled the screwdriver free and tossed it aside so that it landed somewhere on the sofa in the living room. Then she pressed her advantage, figuring it was probably best that she got this over with quickly before he had the opportunity to change her mind. With a dark gaze, she pressed up against him again, the full lean length of his body flat against the wall behind him, and laid a hand on his chest, absently fingering his bowtie. It didn’t match with the sleekness of the rest of his suit, but it was distinctly  _Doctorish_ , and perhaps that was why she liked it so much despite the crime against fashion.   
  
“So,” she asked, “Did you miss me?”  
  
She leaned forward to kiss him before he could answer – only to be stopped less than inch from his lips, and then jerked back by his strong hold. “You really didn’t think I’d fall for the hallucinogenic lipstick again, did you? Fool me once, shame on you—”  
  
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she tossed back, then pulled free, a little stung that her plan hadn’t worked. There was a reason why hallucinogenic lipstick was her trademark signature. It  _always_  worked, every time. Men were predictable that way – but apparently not the Doctor. She hated to admit it, but she wasn’t entirely surprised. “So,” she said, feigning an affronted tone. “I guess this means you really did drag me up here to  _talk._  Why, Doctor, I’m almost insulted—”  
  
“Cut the act, River,” he cut in, decisively. “We have a lot to discuss.”  
  
She stiffened with her back to him, and this was exactly what she feared. She couldn’t engage him in any type of discussion, couldn’t risk him worming his way past her defenses again. Talking would only lead to him convincing her of  _his_  ways, and she’d done that before and had gotten nothing for it but missing knickers and an added heartache.   
  
The moonlight from the large hotel windows did more to illuminate the room than the single lamp at the side, and River strolled across the suite to stand before the panoramic view. Behind her, she was intensely aware of the Doctor as he set her gun and knife inside the corner drawer and shut it. Through the reflection in the window, she saw him untie his bowtie, like he needed to unwind a little, letting the two ends of the tie fall flat against his collarbones.   
  
“I did, you know?” he said, then clarified after a beat, “ _Miss you_.”  
  
She closed her eyes, and reminded herself that she needed to remain aloof – cold. “Don’t,” she warned, and all flirtation had fallen to the wayside. She turned around, somber and serious. “I left you for a reason, Doctor. I asked you not to look for me.”  
  
“You jumped off the ledge before waiting for my response,” the Doctor countered, firmly. “Otherwise I could’ve told you right then and there that –  _no_ , River. I will not stop.”  
  
The look on his face was downright  _intimidating_ , brimming with emotion. He suddenly seemed far older than his age, the very essence of his juvenile persona stripped away to leave a hard demeanor behind. Especially his eyes – the look in them stole her breath. She’d always known he would be upset with how she’d last left things, but the level of suppressed  _anger_  was surprising.  
  
“What do you  _want_ , Doctor?”  
  
There was a long beat, and then he took a breath and the tension dropped from his shoulders like a boulder – suddenly carefree and youthful again in a blink. “To catch up,” he mused wryly, walking up to her and then whirling about with a pointed finger. “And to clarify a few things. The last time we met, we slept together and then you knocked me unconscious. Talk about mixed signals.”  
  
“There was very little  _sleeping_  involved,” River pointed out, tartly.  
  
“Indeed,” he agreed. He trotted forward a few steps. “I made you a promise, River. I told you I’d help bring the Silence down. That’d I’d bring your daughter home to you. I always live up to my promises.”  
  
He was trying reasoning now. It was the one thing she didn’t have a response to, because more than any messy feelings, more than this strange, bewildering energy between them, River had one single priority, and that was her child. Melody – she would do anything for Melody. Make a deal with the devil himself and destroy all of the universe if she had to, just for the sake of her daughter’s protection. The Doctor knew that, and it was a well-played hand to use that to his advantage.   
  
“Eight months,” she pointed out. “Made any progress on the Silence during that time?”  
  
“Not as much as I could have, with your help. I’m not asking for anything else. I want the Silence gone as much as you. That’s all. Whatever else happened between us,” he paused again, and she knew the memory of that night was raw and visceral in both of their minds, “It doesn’t need mentioning again,” he finished, softly, and something in River contracted painfully. “We can just be partners. Strictly professional.”  
  
She doubted that. “Professional?”  
  
“We make a good team,” he insisted, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Admit it, River. That much is undeniable. You could use my help. As for the rest? We ignore it. No harm, no foul.”  
  
She shook her head, turning away, but a part of her knew he was right. They did make a good team. She’d always known that, deep down. Even as she ran and ran the last eight months, she couldn’t outrun the fact that she might’ve been leaving behind the one man that could help her more than anyone else. There was a reason she’d aligned herself with him in the first place.   
  
Ignoring the rest, though… River wasn’t sure it could be that simple.  
  
“Give it a shot?” he pressed. “What have you got left to lose?”  
  
River felt herself faltering, and bloody hell, she’d known it would go down exactly like this. But the seeds of doubt had always been there, and the Doctor was only pointing out the obvious. He was more than just capable and smart, more than just one of the most feared agents in MI6; he was clever in a way that even  _she_  envied, with a mind that reminded her so much of John that it was almost scary.   
  
She could use the Doctor’s help. She might even  _need_  it.  
  
River expelled a breath, half-incredulous, half still stubborn. “I still don’t even know your real name.”  
  
The Doctor paused, a heavy weighted moment hanging between them, then opened his mouth – but a scuffed footstep from behind shattered the moment. Before either one of them could respond, a man was standing in the shadows, a Beretta out of his shoulder holster and pointed at them. “Forgive the interruption,” the stranger greeted, in a gravelly voice, stepping forward into the light. He was an older man, but he moved with a grace that belied excellent stealth; River and the Doctor were both unarmed, and she didn’t like the odds already. “River Song, you’re a tough woman to track down.”  
  
“Apparently not tough enough,” River remarked, wryly. “You’re the second man tonight.”  
  
“The Doctor did all the hard work. I just followed him. It was only ever going to be a matter of time before the Silence found you.”  
  
“Who are you?” the Doctor demanded.  
  
“My name is Octavian – Father Octavian, a former Bishop with the Second Class of the Silence.”  
  
River stiffened. “So, you’re here to kill us?”  
  
“Pay attention,” Octavian answered. “I said I was a  _former_ Bishop with the Silence order, not a current one. Though I will admit, my retirement is rather a recent development, and not altogether on the up and up.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
He lowered his weapon, surprising River. “I needed to know you wouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later. We have much to discuss. I have information about Melody.”  
  


* * *

  
  
The Doctor leaned back against the bookcase behind him and crossed his arms, resisting the urge to interrupt the unfolding story. “Forgive me,” Octavian said, taking a sip of water like his throat had been parched dry. “It’s been a trying day.”  
  
Upon a closer look, Octavian seemed to be in his late forties, maybe early fifties. He had the look of a respectable man, the demeanor of strong man – but something had thrown him, and the jittered nerves manifested themselves in small ways: his restless hands, the way his eyes kept moving, tracking any shadow for a threat, a beat of sweat that was working down his forehead despite the cool temperature of the room.   
  
“Father,” River said, drawing his attention. “You said you had information about Melody?”  
  
“Melody Song was in my personal custody. I was charged with her welfare several weeks back by Madam Kovorian herself, until such a time where it was deemed she had accomplished her mission.”  
  
“Where is she?” River demanded. “What have you monsters done with her?”  
  
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Octavian countered. “I have always considered myself a man of God. The Silence gave me something to believe in, a religious order and tenants that I could lay my life down in order to protect. I became a soldier for that very reason.”  
  
“A religious order?” The Doctor questioned. “I thought it was a political movement.”  
  
“I don’t care!” River interrupted. She grabbed Octavian by the jacket and forced him up. “Where is Melody?”  
  
“I tried to _f_ _ree_ her,” Octavian said, shocking River into freezing. “For that, I am a marked man by the very movement that I dedicated the last thirty years of my life.”  
  
“You… you tried to free her?”  
  
“I am not a monster, River Song. But watching the treatment of that poor child, I learned that I was working for such monsters. I couldn’t stand it. I tried my best to free her. I failed.”  
  
River released him, stumbling back. “Where is she? What are they doing to her?”  
  
“Here, in London, though she’s probably moved by now. Kovorian doesn’t keep her still for long. As for what they were doing to her, God only knows. I just know no child should live in such solitude and suffering. The experiments were never-ending.”  
  
River looked devastated, eyes a gloss of unshed tears. The horror of such a declaration wasn’t surprising to the Doctor, not after learning what he’d already learned of the Silence, but the confirmation from yet another source was like a fresh lash across an old wound. The Doctor found himself pressing a hand to her shoulder in comfort, but she flinched and pulled away. He let his hands fall at his side.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Octavian said to River. “I’m deeply sorry.”  
  
The moment was interrupted when a second later there was a creak from the corner bedroom. All three turned towards the sound, and River rose. She left to check the room, and returned a moment later to declare it was nothing.   
  
But paranoia had caught hold. “Who else knows I’m here?” she asked.  
  
“MI6,” the Doctor answered.  
  
“And that means the Silence knows as well,” Octavian answered knowingly. “MI6 has many moles.”  
  
The Doctor frowned. “We’ll discuss that in a moment, but first, let’s take this somewhere else. C’mon, my car’s waiting outside.”  
  
“Good,” River said, recovering some of her composure. She walked up to him and in one smooth move, swiped his keys. “I’ll drive.”  
  
“No, hang on!” he stumbled after her. “It’s my car!”  
  
“No one’s arguing that point, sweetie,” River tossed back. “I’m just insisting on driving.”  
  
Given she’d already swiped his keys from him twice in the few days he’d previously allowed her near his sexy car, he shouldn’t have been entirely unprepared for this. Still, they quarreled about it while gathering all their belongings, and continued all the way down to the lobby until finally Octavian had had enough of it.   
  
“Look at the pair of you,” he snapped. “Hunted by the most powerful organization in Europe, and you’re squabbling like an old married couple.”   
  
The Doctor rolled his eyes. The first order of business, after they’d managed to scrounge up a safe enough place to question Octavian for a good long while, was to sort out a few ground rules with River in regards to his car. If they were going to work together – and the Doctor suppressed an elated burst of giggles at the thought – River needed to understand that there needed to be some inherent respect for his belongings. Mainly that they were  _his_ , and not theirs.   
  
As they were leaving the hotel, the Doctor pulled his mobile free and typed out a quick text to Donna.  _Coming in with River. Found additional Silence operative. Will update with more information at earliest convenience._  
  
A few seconds later, a reply came:  _Acknowledged. But forget convenience. Report back ASAP._  
  
The Doctor pulled a face, silently wondering how he’d managed to surround himself with so many pushy women in his life.   
  
River used his distraction to win the argument, sliding into the driver’s seat. The Doctor scowled, and then found himself at a faceoff with Octavian at the passenger side door. “Well, I’m at least getting shotgun,” the Doctor insisted, in a tone decidedly un-whiny. “I am not sitting in that little seat in the back. That’s your spot.”  
  
Octavian looked to the interior. “Bloody spies and their impractical sports cars.”  
  
The Doctor sputtered. “Impractical.  _Impractical?_  I’ll have you know that—”  
  
“Boys,” River cut in, and slid the key into the ignition. “Stop fighting or I’ll—” She turned the key – and his car suddenly threw off a blaring alarm. “What—?”  
  
“Don’t move!” the Doctor warned, frantically. He swung around the boot of the car and got out his sonic screwdriver, scanning the car. A second later, a reading popped up – a bomb was wired to the ignition. His car’s advanced features had sensed it, and triggered some protective measures to counteract the bomb and send out a warning signal. He went around and crouched low at the passenger side, briefly exchanging a look with River through the open door – she was gripping the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. “Don’t move,” he advised again, softly. “Stay absolutely still.”  
  
River nodded.  
  
“Another operative must’ve found us,” Octavian said.  
  
The Doctor was too preoccupied to answer. A few seconds of searching found the bomb affixed to the undercarriage of the car. The detonation set for ignition was only half the battle; there was a pressure sensitive back-up trigger that had been initiated the moment River had taken the driver’s seat; when he slid underneath the car, the Doctor came face-to-face with a ticking countdown. The clock had a little more than a minute left.  
  
“Doctor?” River called out, a bit alarmed.  
  
“Just wait! Just wait! I’m going to disarm it!  _Don’t move!_ ”  
  
“Wasn’t planning on it,” River whispered under her breath, acidly.  
  
Octavian joined him, crouching at the side. He exchanged a dour look with the Doctor after he caught a side view of the bomb, and his face darkened with recognition. He said in a soft whisper, low enough that River wouldn’t overhear, “Doctor, the Silence know how to assassinate without fail. It’s their oldest profession. ”  
  
“Yeah?” the Doctor countered, haughtily. “They’re still not good enough to try it on me.”  
  
“You can’t win this one,” Octavian said. “The bomb is going to explode. There’s nothing you can do about it.”  
  
 _To hell with that._  
  
“What’s going on?” River demanded.  
  
“Fifty seconds left to save your life,” the Doctor informed, feigning a rushed, easygoing tone. “Don’t worry, plenty of time.”   
  
He frantically surveyed his options, mind racing. Cut the wiring on the secondary detonation, and the primary bomb would explode. Remove the weight off the driver’s seat, and the secondary bomb would explode. Let the clock run out, and the bomb would explode. Any way he played this, the bomb would explode and River would die.   
  
It was tamper proof.  
  
“Doctor,” River breathed out, a touch of panic in her voice.   
  
“I’d appreciate it if everyone stopped  _talking_ and let me work!” he snapped.  
  
“You can’t tamper with it,” Octavian said, this time loud enough for River to hear. “I know this design. There’s no way to beat it. It’s triple redundancy.”  
  
There was a lengthy pause, then River said, “Doctor, you have to get out of here.”  
  
He grit his teeth, mind still racing desperately.   
  
“Doctor!” River called out again, insistent. “Get out of here! Save yourself!”  
  
“Stop playing the martyr!”   
  
Octavian had moved away, and the Doctor was too busy at first to note his absence or anything the man said, really. But in the interim, the elder man was instructing River to slide over, a small argument breaking out between them; when the words finally registered, Doctor ended up snapping out of his haze with a jolt, slamming his head against the undercarriage in his rush to stop her.  
  
“No, River, don’t move!” the Doctor screamed, frantically.  
  
But by the time he was out and standing in the open, he found a surprising sight. River was free, but Octavian had slid into her seat, having replaced her. “May God have mercy on my soul,” Octavian said, with the haunted eyes of a man who knew he was about to die. “I wish I could have helped your daughter, but find Demon’s Run and maybe all is not lost.”  
  
“Octavian—” River began.  
  
“Go!” Octavian yelled. “Run! Get away!”  
  
The Doctor grabbed River, pulling her away. There was no moment to think, to pause. He pushed River into rushing, and they ran hand-in-hand. A few seconds later, a blast of heat exploded behind them, flinging both of them a dozen feet ahead. He landed hard against the asphalt, skin scarped raw, a pile of limbs. River grunted next to him, coughing and on all fours. When he finally glanced back, shielding his eyes against the bright glare, he found his beloved car a growing inferno, a pile of wreckage – having taken Octavian with it.  
  
“Oh, god,” River breathed out, choking.   
  


* * *

  
  
He worked on auto-mode after that, training kicked into high gear.  
  
He ditched his mobile, throwing it into the flames of his car. There was no time to mourn the loss, or to acknowledge the sacrifice of Octavian. He grabbed River and rushed away from the site just as onlookers came to gather around the spectacle. He surveyed the area and pulled River down an empty alleyway, stopping briefly to rest against the brick wall and strategize. His injuries felt minor, but adrenaline might be overcompensating. River looked unharmed for the most part – a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing alarming.   
  
She looked pale, though. Deathly pale. “He killed himself,” she choked out, in shock. “To save me. Why?”  
  
“Because he was a better man than the Silence gave him credit for,” the Doctor answered. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, thinking quickly. “That wreckage – it wasn’t a remote trigger. We had over a minute to try to disarm it.”  
  
“What does that have to do with anything?”  
  
“It means the operative that planned the bomb likely wasn’t there to see it through.”  
  
“So,” River said, in numb realization, “No one was watching. That means they don’t know that Octavian is dead.”  
  
“Yes,” the Doctor agreed, and added, “And they don’t know that we  _lived._ ”   
  
River looked up, eyes latching onto his as she realized what he was implying. Two faked deaths to add to Octavian’s sacrifice. The bomb had been massive; there would be no identifying how many bodies had been inside. It was the Doctor’s car, and he’d already reported in to Donna that he was coming in with River and an unidentified Silence operative.  
  
For all intents and purposes, they could play dead to the world.  
  
The wail of a police siren sounded in the distance. He straightened, then realized they needed to get further away from the blast. First, they needed to fix themselves up into some sort of presentable state. He took out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the soot off his face, then realized River was staring at him. There was a small cut on her face, just near her ear, running along her right cheek. The look in her eyes, though, was what stopped him cold.   
  
“You okay?” he asked her, finally remembering to ask what should have been the first priority.  
  
Instead of answering, River just looked away, towards the approaching police that was speeding down the road. “C’mon,” she urged quietly. Behind them, somewhere in the distance, a fire roared and a crowd gathered, oblivious to the couple walking away through an empty alleyway. “We have to find some place safe for the night.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Finding a place for the night had, of course, only been the first step. He knew that River’s tastes notwithstanding, they didn’t have the cash for anything extravagant, so they ended up finding a small, slightly rundown place about five miles away. They’d walked it in silence, and though River had hardly given a complaint the entire way, by the end of it she was walking awkwardly and it was only too obvious that her high heels were a hindrance rather than a boon to their current situation. The neighborhood was seedy, but they would’ve looked out of place  _anywhere_  in their attire, high-fashioned suit and dress all torn and mucked up with soot.   
  
The lodge was a small single bedroom, with horrendous wallpaper and a garish picture of some deserted farmland in hues of red and bright green hanging off the main wall. Van Gogh, it was not. The Doctor let her shower first, using the time to go over his options again. When she finally emerged, towel-drying her hair, wrapped up in a terry-bathrobe, he had to remind himself not to stare.  
  
“The MI6 has moles,” he said as a greeting. “If we can’t trust the agency, then we lie low. We use this explosion. As of tonight, River Song and the Doctor are officially dead.”  
  
He could’ve still trusted people inside MI6 – the Ponds, Donna, his other former partners — but another cruel thought had quickly nipped at its heels. It was too risky. The Silence were proving too dangerous. Martha and her newborn baby boy came swiftly to mind, as well as the memory of her lying comatose eight months ago because he had involved her in their messy affairs. The Doctor would just be putting the lives of anyone he told at risk. And the more people that knew, the more likelihood of their secret getting out. It was with a gnawing sickness that he realized that the best way to play this was to let _everyone_  assume he was dead. It was cold and calculating, and his friends might never forgive him when they found out the truth, but the Doctor couldn’t deny the wisdom of it. It was the best way to strategize.   
  
If the Silence and MI6 thought they were dead, they could move around easier. The element of surprise wasn’t a thing to be underestimated.  
  
“You sure about this?” River asked him, softly. “I’ve been alone for a long time. Not many people will care about the news of my death, but you – Doctor, you have people that care about you.”  
  
“What about Jack?” he offered, instead of addressing her concerns. “He’d care about your death.”  
  
River raised an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t be the first time. The rumors of my demise have always been greatly exaggerated. He’d know better.”  
  
The Doctor smiled. “Well, let’s hope he doesn’t stir up too much trouble over it. We need to stay dead, and we can’t have him poking at our cover story like a beehive.”  
  
“You’re avoiding answering the question,” she remarked, shrewdly.  
  
“Always avoid answering questions if you can,” he offered glibly, fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket.   
  
They both fell silent. Pulling off his jacket, he tossed it to the side and slumped back in a chair. For a moment the flowery fragrance of her shampoo invaded his senses but he shook it off quickly and refocused. He took stock of their supplies. Between the two of them they had River’s guns, a handful of cash, and the clothes on their back. All the amenities to get them caught and killed in no time.   
  
“We’re going to need supplies.”  
  
“Sweetie,” River told him, smugly. “You don’t have to worry about that. Staying below radar is practically how I make my living. I have a safety deposit box under an assumed alias in the city. One that you wouldn’t have been able to deduce because of a silly anagram; I still can’t believe that’s how you caught me.”  
  
The Doctor smirked at her, then offered her an olive branch. “In your defense, it did take me eight months to track you down. Never taken that long before.”  
  
She gave him a coy smile for his efforts in flattery. “Anyway, the box will have fake IDs, a few thousands pounds in cash. Plus, it’s really disconcerting what a person can do with the duplicated birth certificate of a deceased person. If you have that, you can get a driver license, a national insurance number – set up a whole new identity with it, credit cards, passports and all.”  
  
Everything they needed to stay hidden for a few weeks, maybe even a few months. He wasn't stupid, though – these were all temporary measures. If the Silence or MI6 wanted to find them bad enough, they'd eventually be found. He just hoped they’d buy the cover story.   
  
The Doctor cleared his throat as a painful thought occurred to him. “We’re going to need a new ride.”  
  
River winched, a little guiltily. “I’m sorry,” she breathed out. “About your car. She was a… beauty. An absolute beauty.”  
  
“Did I ever tell you that I have a special affinity to blue Aston Martins?” he found himself saying, softly. “No other car like it.” The Doctor looked away, bracing himself with a steady breath. “Funny thing is tend to grow attached to my cars, but they keep meeting with disastrous ends. I can rebuild her. Done it before, and I can do it again.”  
  
But this car was unsalvageable. He knew that.   
  
Still, if he could retrieve something from the wreckage, even just the gearshift, it would mean a lot. It wouldn’t feel like a total loss. Strange that he could feel so sentimental over a car, but the ache of it was quietly intense. He glanced back at River as she perched against the wardrobe, leaning casually and studying him. She probably saw right through him. Some color had come back to her cheeks, but there was a small cut on the right side of her face; it could easily be covered up with the right amount of makeup, but he hated that it was there in the first place. Painful enough that his oldest companion in the world, his favored car, had burned, but he wouldn’t have known what to do with himself if River had been a casualty too.   
  
“Get some sleep,” he told her. “We’re going to have to move very carefully from now on. No room for any mistakes.”  
  
“It’s just you and me now, isn’t it?” she said.   
  
He looked at her, carefully. “You okay with that?”  
  
The whole breadth of thorny issues still lay between them. The Doctor didn’t want to poke it with a stick, but he didn’t want to wake up drugged and handcuffed to the radiator either. With River, the latter was more than just hyperbole.  
  
After a beat, River finally answered, “I need your help, Doctor.” She quickly moved to the dresser drawer, where she pulled free her purse. Inside, she removed three items. One, her phone. Two, a ring box. And the third, a small USB drive. The Doctor immediately recognized the last item as the copy of the  _Raven’s Nest_  file that she’d lifted from him months back. “This has more than just the information about the brainwashing device,” she told him, surprising him. “I’ve also uploaded schematics to another device, one that can counter the subliminal messaging with the right calibrations. I need your help with working out the figures.”  
  
She held the USB drive to him, and her phone, and he studied her for a beat before he accepted both. He hooked the USB drive to her smartphone and a few moments later was quickly scrolling through a screen of numbers and figures, deducing enough from just a glance. “Where did you get this?” he breathed in an impressed tone.  
  
“John,” she answered softly, surprising him yet again.   
  
When he looked up from the phone, he found her across the room, staring at the open ring box. Even from this distance, he could see the pricey diamond ring inside and realized with a start that she was staring at her engagement ring. The jolt of that was surprising, if only because he hadn’t expected it to be quite so intense. It was one thing to be confronted with the widow of a man whose death the Doctor was responsible for.   
  
It was another thing entirely to realize he was falling for her, too.  
  
“We can look over this tomorrow,” he found himself saying, softly. “You should get some sleep. I’ll take the sofa.”  
  
There was a single king-sized bed big enough for both of them, but the Doctor wanted to make it clear that he had no intentions of breaching any lines of propriety. Whatever earlier reservations stood between them seemed to have been put on hold after the bombing. He could see it in the way River was watching him, steadfast and calm. He didn’t want to unbalance that, and whatever he may have felt for River, as maddening and bewildering as it was, there was no requirement that it be reciprocated, and he wasn’t going to force a confrontation.   
  
He owed the memory of John Smith that much.  
  
“Octavian,” River said, closing the box. “He said something before he died.  _Demon’s Run._ What is that?”  
  
The Doctor took a breath. “No idea, but we’re going to find out.”


	12. Chapter 12

  
  
The shadows had lengthened considerably but the day had still been bright and clear as, forty minutes earlier, River had taken the helicopter up into the air. It was the end of a long and eventful four weeks since Octavian had seeded the idea of  _Demon’s Run_  in their minds. It had finally blossomed into action now, sending both the Doctor and River on a head-on collision with a small military facility on the outskirts of Scotland. A dangerous course, definitely: River couldn’t dispute that.   
  
Demon's Run was the main military base governed by Madame Kovorian and the Church's Anglican Regiment backing her. Kovorian was impossible to reach, sitting on a pedestal at the top, practically untouchable, but the people at the bottom weren’t quite so impervious. River and the Doctor had saddled up sideways and smiled, then hit the Silence in strategic points, one by one. Four weeks, they’d been at this. Covertly hunting down leads, finding weakness within the infrastructure of the Silence, gaining momentum, slowly but surely. It had been a given that they would make a good team, but even River had been surprised by how well-oiled they ran. He thought one thing, and she was right there with him. She set a course of action, and he was already planning contingencies. It was a little uncanny how smoothly they carried on.  
  
The final piece of intelligence had been gathered within the last week – Melody was being held prisoner inside Demon’s Run on the fourteenth floor. If they could get to her, if they could take the facility down, it’d go a long way in demonstrating the weaknesses of the corrupt movement. International syndicate of powerful people or not, a religious order, a political juggernaut – River didn’t care what the Silence was or what they threw at her. They had taken her child and abused Melody all her life. For that, River would bring the whole goddamn organization to its knees. The full resolve of a mother should never be tested.  
  
She veered the helicopter left, dipping under the halo of the bright sun. Beside her, dressed completely against form, the Doctor was attired in a similar uniform to River’s – they both were dressed the part of military personnel returning to the base. River had commandeered the helicopter, and the Doctor had forged the documents, and now they were given clearance to taxi the aircraft on the base’s primary landing field. The cover had been flawlessly executed thus far, but as she exchanged a covert look with the Doctor as they descended, she knew they were both thinking the same thing:  _now came the hard part._  
  
When they got off the helicopter, they followed a group of soldiers into the facility through the main gate. The plan was simple enough, and the first step was finding Melody. They passed the first ID check with no problems, and even made it onto the ground level with no one batting an eyelash at them. They filed in with the rest of the soldiers towards the mess hall, where the crowd only tripled in numbers.   
  
“It almost seems like a taking candy from a baby, doesn’t it?” the Doctor remarked to her, then frowned. “Though if I’ll be honest, I’ve never really got that saying much. Can you imagine _trying_  to take candy from a baby? They’d throw a hissy-fit like the bloody world was ending – all crying and snot-faced and red. Cause a scene and get you noticed in no time, which if you’re trying to commit the toffee-thievery incognito, wouldn’t do  _at all._  Not that I know from personal experience. It’s not like I go around stealing candy from toddlers and wee little people as some sort of ongoing experiment in testing out colloquial idioms like some literal-minded fool, but you have to assume—”  
  
“Sweetie,” River cut in, just barely holding back an eye-roll. By now she was well-used to his ramblings, even found it adorable on most occasions, even when the timing and place wasn’t particularly conducive to them. “I get what you’re saying. This is too easy.”  
  
“Far too easy!” he hissed immediately, drawing closer to her. “It couldn’t be any easier if they threw a welcome mat on the floor.”  
  
She hated to say it, but she agreed. For the most secure and strongest military facility in the Silence’s arsenal, they’d done the equivalent of donning on a fake nose and a handlebar mustache. “Let’s not look a gift-horse in the mouth just yet,” she warned under her breath. “We haven’t even gotten to the restricted areas yet. Find the stairways, and I’ll go the back route. See you back here in thirty?”  
  
The Doctor looked to her. “All right then. Try not to kiss every man you meet.”  
  
“Oh jealousy, Doctor? I’m sure they’ll be a few women tossed in for good measure. Besides, no promises either way. I do so love a man in uniform.” She tipped an eyebrow up, running her gaze over him once. “Speaking of, did I mention that you’re looking—”  
  
“River,” he warned, though a bit smugly. “Don’t get distracted.”   
  
“Spoilsport.”  
  
She tossed him a wink, and turned. She slowly made her way along the outer edge of the mess hall, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Not that there was likely to be anyone to notice her among this many numbers, ten minutes before lunch was served. Her steps faltered as she approached a backdoor near to the last row of benches. She scanned the hall once again, checking to make sure she wasn't being observed. She only found the Doctor still watching her, having barely moved an inch since she’d left his side, and the look in his eyes was clouded with apprehension – but only if you knew him well enough to spot it.   
  
She gave him a brazen smile to ease his concerns, then budged open the authorized-personnel-only door and dipped in through the crack into the empty hallway. Despite the inherent danger of the situation, River was well-used to such operations. Still, adrenaline was pumping through her veins now with all the familiarity of a kiss from a long-time lover. She normally loved this – the adrenaline, the suspense, the thrill of a new adventure. But there was too much at stake on this one – her child nearby. She’d come so close only once before, and Melody had been snatched away an arm’s length away from her. River wasn’t sure what she’d do if she faced such heartbreaking failure yet again.  
  
For that reason, she disliked splitting-up from the Doctor, even if it worked to their advantage. Working side-by-side with him had made her lazy in only a limited number of ways, but one of them had been owed to the comfort of knowing the Doctor was always there to catch her if she fell. Literally, as a few cased turned out. This time, the base was too large and the enemies too numerous. As she made her way through the colorless hallway, River was reminded of her stay at Stormcage and the years she’d had to spend isolated behind cold walls made of stone and brick.  
  
The faster she got out of here, the better.   
  
She’d already memorized the layout of the entire facility. The blueprints had been acquired through a diligent search of a restricted government storage facility back in Amsterdam, which she had broken into because of information the Doctor had gathered after tracking down a former Silence operative in the slums of an illegal gambling ring in Liverpool. Weeks of sleepless nights, of research and planning and infiltrating; River practically  _dreamt_  about this place.  
  
She turned the corner, and the corridor she found herself in led past various storage areas and a few locked rooms, and then on down to an old assembly line at the end. The sliding door on the right was heavy, and moved noisily when she hauled it open. It was dark inside, no windows to speak of or lights to guide her, just a sliver of faint light falling in from the corridor, and the vents high in the walls at either end filled the room with an ambient noise. She let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Slowly, she made out shapes of the items left unattended to on the conveyer belts. Glinting dully, their form was unmistakable, from their curved nose cones to the sleek fins arranged around their bases. Bombs. Quite a lot of them, too. Enough for a small third-world country.  
  
Images flashed before her eyes: the weapons of mass destruction, and their uses under the thumb of Kovorian. Bombings, killings – a sudden and vivid film of how the Silence would put these shells to use. River shuddered at the thought, losing count of their numbers as she surveyed the endless rows and the cavernous room full of conveyer belts. God have mercy, they were preparing for a war. How and when was a mystery, but River knew enough based on her prior dealings with Kovorian that she wasn’t a leader who aspired to conventional tactics. Why  _bombs_ , then? It seemed heavy-handed and messy, but then again, River had never been able to figure out any of the Silence’s agenda. One thing was certain, though. If Kovorian had ordered these shells built, then she had use of them. Kovorian wasn’t one to bluff or fear retaliation. Back in Rio, she had proven herself a woman that had blithely blown up her own research facility just to egg the Doctor on.  
  
With a pinch of worry in her stomach, River made her way across the room and proceeded to the service elevators.   
  
There was a dull thud of something gliding across the ground, and a second too late, River recognized the small canister that slid across the concrete floor towards her. A flash-grenade. The intensely loud  _bang_  that happened next blinded River, forcing her to stumble back in disorientation. She lost balance and fell backwards to the floor, groping blindly about her while bright white lights and spots of colors danced before her vision. The distorted sounds of footsteps and men shouting filtered in, only vaguely, and when the boots of surrounding soldiers circled her, River tried and failed to orient herself. Vision doubling, eyes stinging with tears, she was helpless to fight the guards that cornered her against one of the machines.   
  
“Take her,” a commanding voice filtered in, and River found a lone pair of high heels among a throng of military boots. “Silly woman,” Kovorian said, standing over her, and though the voice barely registered above the ringing in River’s ears, the mocking look on Kovorian’s face conveyed more than enough. “Did you really think we didn’t know you were here?”  
  


* * *

  
  
It was worse than she feared when River was escorted into an airless interview room, finding the Doctor inside in a similar state of disorientation. The effects of the flash grenade were the least of their concerns. They acknowledged each other with a matching grimace, even mockeries of a smile, but then River was distracted by a brute shove that caused her to stumble into the far wall. The Doctor shouted angrily at the guards, but he was also collapsed inelegantly, bound in a chair. He was refusing to look directly at her. River wondered if he was blaming himself for getting caught, but with a beat of rising panic, she feared rather there was some injury he’d sustained that he didn’t want her to see. She didn't have the chance to find out because a second later a thug soldier shoved River into the other accompanying chair and handcuffed her as well.  
  
“You, me,” she said to the Doctor airily, with a shrug. “Handcuffs. Must it always end this way?”  
  
The Doctor’s smile went crooked, but it seemed a bit more genuine.   
  
Kovorian came striding in, escorted by her normal entourage of guards dressed in pristine black suits. River was acutely aware of the weight of the handcuffs around her wrists, the only thing stopping her from leaping across the room and strangling the older woman with her bare hands.   
  
“River Song and the Doctor,” Kovorian said. “We really must stop meeting like this.”  
  
River smiled at her. “Uncuff me and I can make arrangements to that.”  
  
“Cute,” Kovorian acknowledged, coldly. “But I think you two have been enough of a thorn in my side. I had hoped the rumors of your demise to be true, but these last few months we’ve been encountering a lot of unexpected setbacks. Safe-houses blown, secure facilities breached, and a few of our operatives have suddenly found themselves at the wrong side of law enforcement agents. Anonymous tips? Busy bees, you two.”  
  
The Doctor offered her a shrug. “We aim to please. How’ve things been, eh, Miss Kovorian? So much to catch up on.”  
  
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “As I told you the last time we met, it’s  _Madam_  Kovorian.”  
  
“Yes, yes, of course.”  
  
“Oh, Doctor. Catching you once was a joy, but catching you twice, it's a privilege. This time, though – I think I’ll get killing you  _right._ ”   
  
“Promises, promises,” he goaded with a teasing smile.  
  
Kovorian’s frown tightened. “I fail to see why the two of you can act so arrogant in a moment like this. Have you no shame?”  
  
River shrugged. “We’ve been told by reliable sources as such.”  
  
“Several times,” the Doctor added, helpfully.  
  
“Enough!” Kovorian snapped. “All your quips mean nothing. Against an army like mine, you two are  _pathetic_. It really is curious why I ever regarded you as problems.” She stepped toward River. “Especially you, Miss Song. I expected more from the mother who vowed vengeance against me. And look at you. Look at how  _horribly_  you have failed at protecting your child.”  
  
River couldn’t help but lash out against that, losing her cool. She jolted against her restraints, barring her teeth. “Where is Melody? What have you done to her?”  
  
Kovorian laughed. “Haven’t you figured it out, yet? Melody isn’t here. She never was, but it doesn’t matter in the least. She has always been a pawn – just a pawn. Something for me to use against  _you_ , and others like you. I fed you lies and gave you exactly what you feared most. And you took the bait as always. So utterly predictable.”  
  
The Doctor tensed, drawing attention. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“I kept her all these years because I knew it drove River  _mad._  Melody had little use to us beyond a few initial experiments. I admit, I have grown fond of her, but she has always only ever been a distraction. She succeeded quite marvelously at it. All your attention, focused only on one goal. Meanwhile, the clock ticks and the true game unfolds.”  
  
“You made her suffer,” River repeated, sickened. “Only to get to me.”  
  
“It’s an extension of a larger theory I’m working on. You see, that’s the way it always is in the world. Show a person a massacre, and they can shrug it off. But a girl fallen down a well? Oh, a suffering child captures the hearts of the masses – look at how  _driven_  they get to save her. I know how to use that now, thanks to you.”   
  
River suspected there was some darker meaning to her words, some ramifications she could not yet understand. For all the foreboding posturing, Kovorian never followed through because a moment later another guard came through the door and whispered something urgently into her ear. Whatever it was, it caught Kovorian’s undivided attention. Without another word, she turned on her heels and marched out of the room, taking her guards with her.  
  


* * *

  
  
From the corner of her eye, River observed a tall burly looking guard next to the door out in the hallway. The man appeared indifferent to River’s observation, but she had a strong suspicion that if she tried to walk out through that door, she’d discover the soldier would prove to be not so unconcerned after all. The thought set her on edge; Kovorian might’ve had her attention occupied by other things, but it was going to be tricky getting out of here under the scrutiny of all these other Silence operatives on high alert.  
  
“So,” she remarked to the Doctor, with a sigh. “This could’ve gone better.”  
  
Beside her, the Doctor was strangely quiet, breathing heavily.   
  
She turned to him, finding him still awkwardly collapsed in his chair, slightly slumped and turned away from her. He was bent at the waist slightly, and his military uniform didn’t seem sullied but River swept her eyes over him, concerned that he was trying to hide some sort of offensive wound. It was the only explanation she could have for his unusual bout of silence. She’d known the man for nearly a year now, on and off again. She could count on one hand the number of occasions he hadn’t had something to say.  
  
“Sweetie?”   
  
His lips twitched upwards a little, and he turned towards her. “I ever tell you that I love it when you call me that?”  
  
She smiled. “Why do you think I continue to do it?”  
  
They’d been playing this game so long that she was surprised when he didn’t volley back with his own flirtatious banter. “God only knows,” he remarked, strangely somber. “I never have been able to figure you out.”  
  
River paused. This was…  _curious._  He was poking at things they had both agreed not to discuss. They could flirt all they liked, but there was a line between them, one that River fought to maintain every day. Sometimes without success, but most days – most days, they were both such gifted liars that it almost didn't matter.   
  
Almost.  
  
“You all right?” she asked, pointblank in concern. “They didn’t hurt y—”  
  
“Fine,” he cut in, dismissively. River didn’t believe him. “Did you manage to get to the factory room?”  
  
“Yes, but I wasn’t able to execute any of our plans. Caught first. How embarrassing.”  
  
“Don’t feel too bad,” he said with a grimace. “Didn’t do much better myself. Only had about a minute inside the mainframe room. Would you like the good news or the bad news first?”  
  
“Bad. Always bad news first. Gives me something to look forward to.”  
  
They’d had this discussion once before, months and months back handcuffed in Rio. The Doctor recognized it, by the faint amused twitch of his lips again. One of the deputies guarding them interrupted the moment by popping his head in and brusquely giving the order for "No talking." The Doctor rolled his eyes, and River laughed along with him. The guard made a displeased noise, and held up a wand pointedly in warning: River recognized it – one of those picana wands, an advanced sort of cattle-prod suitable for electric shock torture. She offered a biting smile in return, but decided not to provoke yet if there was no immediate cause. She acknowledged the order by staying silent.  
  
“This is all my fault,” the Doctor said, suddenly.  
  
River turned to look at him, surprised, but the guard barked another order and then engaged his cattle-prod as a sick sort of reminder. She didn’t speak, but the question was well-apparent in her eyes. The Doctor was apologizing, but for what? Getting captured? Not being able to single-handedly take down an entire military facility? It was something more – something weighing on his shoulders. There was a long stretch of silence where the shadows did horrible things to his profile, and suddenly she was staring at a man with so many ghosts in his life, River can hardly even comprehend it.   
  
What had he seen in the mainframe? What had him so broken?  
  
Risking the wrath of the guard, River broke the silence, “You have absolutely  _nothing_  to be sorry about. Not to me.”  
  
The words were weighty, and he looked up to acknowledge them with an expression that— the guard suddenly jabbed a right hook out against her chin. River’s head struck back, caught off-guard.   
  
“Don't you touch her!” the Doctor roared. “Do not harm her in any way!”  
  
“What are you going to do about it?” the guard mocked, and then turned to jab the Doctor with the cattle-prod. The Doctor shook and convulsed, crying out briefly. “Madame Kovorian is busy – big day for us and all. So much to do. But I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if we had some fun with you.”  
  
Then the guard jabbed the Doctor again with the prod, and again, getting pleasure out of the torturous action. The Doctor screamed out as volts of electricity pumped through his body, and River could do nothing but watch, struggling vainly in her restraints as the horror unfolded. Another guard from the hallway noticed, and to River’s revulsion, came in to join. The Doctor took a few more prods, enough electricity to cause serious damage, even life-threatening if they kept repeating it over and over again. To add another flavor of cruelty, they threw in a couple of punches to the Doctor’s chest and abdomen, strong enough to force River to turn away in horror.  
  
“Stop it,” River found herself warning, lowly, in a lull between punches. The guards turned back to her. “Lay one more hand on him, and I will show you personally why my reputation has gained such distinct infamy.”  
  
The guards laughed, but something about the twisted way she was watching them must’ve been unsettling because eventually they sobered, taking a few steps back. There was another round of laughter, albeit nervously, and as a last act of defiance, one of the guards spat in the Doctor’s face. “Sure you will, sweetheart,” the taller one mocked, then left with the other guard.  
  
River turned to examine the Doctor again, eyes watering. His face was bloody; he had ashen-skin and was sweating profusely. If he had been injured before, it was twice as bad now because he was doubled-over at the waist in a manner that River guessed he had at least one broken rib, if not more. “Are you all right?” she breathed out, sickly. But he seemed too disorientated at first to respond. “Doctor, it’s me, River. Are you all right?”  
  
Bile rose, but River fought it down brutally. Because even now, even bound and defenseless, beaten, even after another aching failure in her pursuit to save Melody, River couldn’t admit defeat. She felt certain she could overcome this.  _They_  could overcome this. With the Doctor at her side, nothing was completely lost no matter how abysmal it looked.  
  
It was perhaps a scary thing to acknowledge to herself, even if it was only obvious. The unyielding  _faith_  she had in this man. She’d only felt such certain loyalty once before in her life, and she’d fallen for John in a way that had terrified her with its intensity. She felt herself standing at that same bloody precipice all over again, and once again it felt like there was nothing she could do about it but fall. Fall for the Doctor – it was unavoidable, if she was being honest with herself. The last few weeks underground with him had been trying in so many ways, not the least of which had anything  _at all_  to do with the Silence.   
  
That didn't stop her from trying to resist the pull between them. Ever since she’d agreed to work with him, she’d had a mantra in her head:  _She would not get distracted by the Doctor. Not again. Not anymore._  She kept repeating that to herself, over and over again. It was supposed to help make things less personal, less complicated. She didn’t have time for petty personal hangups or crushes, not when her daughter's fate rested at stake. She couldn’t cut ties with the Doctor, or distance herself from him, or make their relationship anymore awkward than it needed to be – even if seeing him everyday was maddening sometimes. Because her mantra oftentimes proved to be exactly as futile as a person would expect. Such close quarters with a man she swore not to get  _involved_  with, and yet how could she not?   
  
And now just look at them.  
  
Eventually, the Doctor lifted his head. “So,” he remarked, wryly, “I’ll qualify that beating as the bad news?”  
  
River took a breath, not able to rejoin the easygoing banter just yet. “Are you all right?”  
  
“Yes, yes, of course I am. Anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?”  
  
But she could tell everything with just one look. She knew this man so well – she knew he’d lie through his teeth if he thought it’d make the situation better. Rule number one.   
  
“I could really use that good news right about now,” River remarked, faintly.  
  
He gave her a smile. “Sure thing. Did I forget to mention earlier that when I was in the mainframe, I had just enough time to plant a virus in the computer?”  
  
“A virus? To do what?”  
  
The facility suddenly blared with an alarm. “ _System One Meltdown,_ ” an automotive voice rang out over the speakers. “ _Repeat: System One Meltdown. Core integrity at depleting values. Begin evacuation immediately._ ”  
  
The Doctor exchanged a pleased look with River, and she stared back, astonished. Everything fell into place immediately, and River didn’t even need an explanation because she saw his plan unfolding in her mind as if she’d always been privy to it. Bloody brilliant –  _mad_ , but brilliant.   
  
“Why, River Song,” he remarked, smugly. “You have that look on your face.”  
  
“What look?”  
  
“The  _he’s-hot-when-he’s-clever_  face.”  
  
“This is my normal face.”  
  
He smirked. “Yes, it is.”  
  
A moment later, the earlier two guards reentered the small-boxed room, but buoyed by the news of the Doctor’s brilliant backup, River reacted with fortitude. She lifted up the chair she was strapped into to a couple centimeters off the ground, and peddled backwards until she slammed into a wall. The wooden chair broke into shattered pieces, and the sharp pain that immediately accompanied in her left leg was overridden only by a surge of adrenaline and the knowledge that it was now or never.   
  


* * *

  
  
A few minutes later, after dispatching the two guards with brutal efficiency, River crouched in front of the Doctor and examined his wounds. When she untied him and then lifted up his shirt, it was just as she feared – his abdomen was already a colorful array of black and blue, and there was a tenderness that suggested internal bleeding. Her best hope was that it wasn’t life-threatening, but even then she knew it was serious enough that he wouldn’t be mobile without help. She ended up half-carrying the Doctor down the hectic halls of the evacuating building. Around them was chaos. The speakers continued to belt out orders for evacuation, so River and the Doctor slipped into the throng of people rushing around them with barely a lift of anyone’s eyebrow.  
  
They made it to the controls just as the countdown hit less than fifteen minutes.  _Plenty of time._  The Doctor insisted on returning to the mainframe for something, although why River didn’t know. She trusted him enough to follow his instructions without questioning, and a few minutes later she had easily disarmed the guards left standing sentry at the main control room. The soldiers ran, and River and the Doctor were left alone in front of a hub of computer monitors that surveyed the entire facility. She had a moment, just one, to simply marvel at the gravity of the accomplishment. Demons Run was theirs without a drop of blood spilled except for that which River had taken in disarming the guards. The Doctor’s reputation had always been fearsome, but in this moment she knew he would gain an infamy like never before.   
  
His reputation would never rise higher.  
  
Kovorian suddenly appeared on the communications screen in the center. “Doctor,” she intoned, displeased. “Well-played, but no matter. I'm a long way away already.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” the Doctor said coldly. “We’ll find you.”  
  
“Until then, we’ll continue to use the child as a weapon. All the children.”  
  
The Doctor slammed his hand down in anger, shouting at the screen. “The children are not weapons! Melody is not a weapon, do you understand me? I know what you have planned now. I’ll stop you. I swear to god if it is the last thing I do on this Earth, it will be to rid it of  _you._ ”  
  
River stepped forward, but there was a bracing moment of silence that followed. She had the feeling that she had missed something, something big because the Doctor was staring at Kovorian with a look of absolute hatred, but there was something else too, something desperate and naked. The Doctor never threatened killing – he was too much of an idealist to ever threaten that. For him to be provoked to such lengths, River knew he’d indeed found out something devastating in his earlier search through the mainframe.   
  
“Doctor,” River said, quietly. “What’s going on?”  
  
Madame Kovorian was all smiles. “Observe, now. See what happened right under your noses, and you were too blind and distracted by Melody to ever see it coming.”  
  
The side screen flickered on, and River was surprised to discover it was tuned to a television channel: BBC News.  _“For those just joining us right now,”_  an anchorman in his late fifties said, looking pale and strung out,  _“I bring you tragic news that devastates an entire nation. Earlier today, the Queen of England was killed after being shot twice in the chest in a gruesome scene just outside Manchester while visiting relatives. The Queen was standing on the second level balcony of her hotel room when reportedly two unidentified government officials under the MI6 division opened fire and shot her. The two unnamed assailants are now in custody as a full-fledged investigation commences. Initial reports from reliable sources inside Scotland Yard indicate the assassination may in fact spread out to include a conspiracy of more than half a dozen MI6 agents—”_    
  
Kovorian remotely turned off the report, plunging the side-screen into darkness while River and the Doctor both stared. “This is Phase One of Three,” Kovorian explained, “I have so very much more planned ahead of us.”  
  
River felt sick, almost needing to throw up. “You killed the Queen,” she breathed out in horror.  
  
“Didn’t you hear?” Kovorian mocked. “The MI6 did. By the end of the day, Scotland Yard will implicate and arrest several more MI6 agents, branding them traitors to the nation. I had initially hoped to blame you, Doctor, as punishment for becoming such a troublesome nuisance these past few months.” Kovorian smiled at him. “Not since 0010 have we had such an aggravating double-o agent.”  
  
“From you,” the Doctor seethed, lowly, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”  
  
“You should have learned from his mistakes,” Kovorian returned, coldly. “John Smith not only lost his life because I grew tired of his meddling ways, but then I destroyed his family too. Sent his fiancé to prison for a murder she didn’t commit, and kidnapped his child. That is how we do things in this business. You do not go against the Silence, Doctor, for we will not only destroy you, but your family as well.” She paused, musing wryly, “In your particular case, though, we had no blood relatives to seek out, so we made due with substitutions. Guess which MI6 agents will serve out the sentence of treason, likely to be executed after a lengthy and damning trial?”  
  
The Doctor paled, and River could only close her eyes in horror, in realization.   
  
“We’ve planted unerring evidence that will point to a conspiracy consisting of six MI6 agents: Amy Pond. Rory Williams. Martha Jones-Smith. Mickey Smith. Rose Tyler. And their direct supervisor, the head of MI6 itself – Donna Noble. Half of them have already been arrested. The other half will be in custody by nightfall. Disavowed, black listed – branded as  _terrorists._ ”  
  
The damning words left an echo through the hanger. For a long beat, the Doctor’s eyes had misted over with such horror that River wondered if she was witnessing the very moment he broke – and it was a moment she had not thought possible, before. But River knew – she had suffered years of Kovorian’s cruelty, her unyielding vengeance so twisted and long reaching.   
  
“Why?” River choked out. “Why kill the Queen?”  
  
“Chaos,” Kovorian answered. “Within the day, martial law will be declared. Then watch as this nation rips itself apart under the horror that its beloved monarch was assassinated by agents of its own government. Meanwhile, my people will be placed into a position of power. But that’s not all.” She turned, head tilted to the side as she looked upon the Doctor. “Oh, but you’ve figured it out, haven’t you? You saw our mainframe earlier. Tell her, Doctor. Fill River in on the rest of my plans.”  
  
For a beat, it looked as if the Doctor could not answer, bowed and broken under the weight of everything unfolding. He looked to River, licked his lips, and said, “The Crowning Ceremony.”  
  
River did not understand. “What?”  
  
“The Crown Jewels,” he answered, faintly, looking sickened. “Kovorian can use the coronation as the seeding point to use her brainwashing machine. They must have implanted the device into the crown before returning it to the authorities. When the new King is crowned in the coronation, it’ll be witnessed by nearly every man, woman and child in the nation.”  
  
“We really only care about the children,” Kovorian added in a lofty tone. “Because every single one of them, at some point in their lives, will look back at this man, taking those very first steps as crowned King, and they will never, ever forget it – because we won’t let them. Unfortunately, the coronation usually takes place several months after the death of the previous monarch because of silly notions of sentimentality and grieving periods, but no matter. In due time, every child that watches or gets even a glimpse of that image will be under our thumb – under our control  _forever._ ”  
  
River closed her eyes, feeling numb with fear.   
  
“Some of the children, we’ll use,” Kovorian explained. “Most, we’ll just use as distractions, like we did with Melody. The nation will turn its focus on helping the suffering of millions of children, while the Silence grow stronger. And the children will grow, our army within the next generation. Everything is in place. We’ve been planning this for  _years_. If I do say so myself, it has been executed to perfection.”  
  
“We’ll stop you,” River promised, coldly.  
  
Kovorian smiled. “No. You won’t.”  
  
The screen went blank.  
  
The Doctor suddenly lashed out, flinging the contents of a nearby workbench off the table and then smashing a computer against the wall. River flinched, but then stood frozen, only staring as the Doctor worked himself up into a rage. She had never seen him lose control like this, and it was intimidating to witness, even if justified. He was always so poised, so in-control even when provoked, but the devastation of his friends in trouble, the Queen dead and the very fate of a nation in jeopardy – River closed her eyes.   
  
She only snapped out of haze when the Doctor stumbled and fell to the floor. She rushed to his side, then discovered his injuries had only worsened because of the outburst.   
  
“Well, then, soldier,” she mused, softly, trying to bring back down, “how goes the day?”  
  
He flinched. “I should have seen this coming.”  
  
“How?” she whispered to him, soothingly. “All of this was beyond your control.”  
  
“That doesn’t matter! We had the information, all the pieces!”  
  
Instead of answering, River looked to the monitor and read the countdown. They didn’t have time for this, here. Without much help, she gathered the Doctor around the arms and forced him to his feet again. Together, they stumbled through the halls and towards the airfield where their helicopter was waiting. Few things ran through her mind, as River didn’t need the distractions, but she moved forward on the fuel of adrenaline and righteous anger. Unlike the Doctor, she wasn’t focused on the setbacks and failures – the only thing that mattered was what they’d do going forward.  
  
“We’ll stop them,” River vowed, under her breath. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince, herself or the Doctor. “We’ll find a weakness and exploit it. It isn’t over yet—”  
  
The Doctor’s legs suddenly gave out entirely. Unprepared to take on his full weight, they crashed to the ground in a pile of limbs. River looked over to discover the Doctor was slipping unconsciousness. The injuries were catching up to him. Alarm coursed through her as she leaned over him, searching his body and then patting his face to awaken him. “Doctor,” she called frantically. “Doctor, you need to wake up! I can’t carry you to the airfield. You have to—”  
  
He blinked wearily. “River—”  
  
“Stay awake!” she ordered.  
  
The speakers came on. “ _Countdown to self-destruct in T-minus five minutes._ ”  
  
There wasn’t enough time to make it across, not without the Doctor helping. It wasn’t his injuries that were the problem, or his spirits – but rather a combination thereof. Any more time wasted and the bloody fool was going to get all martyrdom on her, she could tell already. Well, River wasn’t going to have any of  _that._  The Silence had taken away everything in River’s life – everything except, that was, for the Doctor.   
  
She wasn’t going to lose him either.  
  
Before she even had the chance to think about it, she ducked her head down and brushed a kiss across his lips. They had kissed before, but their previous tangos had been fueled by anger and passion, by something impulsive and rash. It felt no less impulsive now, doing this here, but this time River felt drugged by the heady desperation of him, overwhelming and warm. It was soft and seductive and  _slow,_  with far too much emotion packed behind it. She wanted it to last because sentiment, or love, or whatever this thing between them could be called – it mattered. She needed to remind him of that, needed to remind him he still had something to fight for.  
  
When she pulled back, she whispered, “I am not giving up, and I know you, my love. Neither are you. So,  _on your feet,_  Doctor.”  
  
There was a pause, and then the Doctor braced himself with a long painful breath, and moved.


	13. Chapter 13

  
The air outside had been frigid, so when River booted open the door, there was a rush of warmth from inside that hit her in a wave. She hastily lurched over the threshold with the Doctor in her arms, fighting the losing battle to keep him upright. With a shout out towards the unfamiliar environment, River had the brief fear that she’d find the flat empty and useless. She needed help. She needed someone that could hide them, and get quick medical help for the Doctor. She needed someone she could trust. She needed—  
  
“Jack!” she screamed. “You better have your fine arse at home!”  
  
There was a crash of something hitting the floor, something metallic. A moment later, there was the sound of shuffling feet and then a head poked out from behind the corner of the corridor. Jack Harkness stared with disbelieving eyes – with his hands firmly around an old classic 38 revolver, of course. “River,” he breathed out, shocked.  
  
Any other time, she would’ve given him a moment to reorient himself with her sudden resurrection from death, but her hands were full – literally. “A little help here,” she gasped, strained. The Doctor may have been a tall stick of nothing, but she’d just dragged him around for a good long while and her arms felt like jelly. Jack snapped out of his stupor, finally noticing the Doctor’s pallor, not to mention his current state of unconsciousness. He rushed to her side and helped her lower the Doctor onto the corner sofa. “Thanks,” she breathed out. “We need to get a doctor—”  
  
“I’ll reframe from making a funny about that,” Jack cut in. “Jesus, River, I thought you and him were dead!”  
  
“I’d love to explain everything, but priorities—”  
  
“Right, right,” Jack said, blinking. He quickly acclimated himself to the new circumstances and nodded along with forced lightheartedness, as if being faced with presumed-dead-friends was an everyday occurrence. “All right, all right, I know a guy. Not the most credible doctor but someone who’ll know to keep his mouth shut.”  
  
“That’s exactly what we need,” River said.  
  
Jack left swiftly to grab his phone, and River brushed back hair from the Doctor’s sweaty forehead. He was alive. For that much, at least, River was thankful. She quickly found that he had a thready pulse and that he was still breathing shallowly, but she was more worried about a complicated fracture or broken ribs. A punctured lung would require surgery, and they couldn’t risk hospitals.   
  
“Jack,” she yelled out, worried. “Hurry!”  
  


* * *

  
  
The beer Jack had handed her an hour later helped keep River’s hands preoccupied as she anxiously waited out the diagnosis. She had specifically chosen a landing point nearby to Jack’s safehouse, but it had been risky coming here because she knew half the time Jack was doing god knows  _what_  in god knows  _where_  to god knows  _who_. For once, though, luck was on their side.  
  
She kept playing with the label on the bottle, peeling away bits by bits until there was a small mound of littered paper on the corner table. The place wasn’t much – just a single bedroom flat that had the basic amenities, a bachelor pad for occasions when Jack needed to lie low for a while. He’d long ago given River a standing invitation to utilize the space anytime she needed, but this was the first time she’d ever taken advantage of the offer. Her eyes kept returning to the light that shone out from under the closed bedroom door; Jack’s doctor had been some inscrutable fellow by the name of Canton Everett Delaware III. River hadn’t had any time to scrutinize his credentials, but she trusted Jack’s judgment enough.  
  
Of course, the first thing Canton had done as soon as he walked through the door was ask if they had anymore beer – River was trying not to hold that against him.  
  
Jack joined her in silence. They’d already done the whole hugging-reunion thing, and she’d managed to update him a little on what was going on – though the sheer breadth of everything would require a longer explanation; River wasn’t up to it, tonight. She felt emotionally and physically exhausted by the day’s events. So, they didn’t speak but River of aware of him sliding sideways looks towards her as they waited out the duration of the Doctor’s examination. The minutes ticked by, with no firm ending to it. She tried not get worked up about the Doctor’s condition, but the longer she waited, the more time she had to sit and stew over everything.   
  
For so long, she’d been caught in a trap of her own indecision, but somewhere back there in Demon’s Run, some split-second choice had been made. Staring down at the Doctor, seeing him defeated – it had spurred her protective instincts and opened her own eyes up to the undeniable.  _She loved him._  And she knew the feeling was mutual, even though neither one of them had confessed as such. With one kiss, one single moment amidst an insane day, River realized – well, that was her man, and that was  _that._  Funny how epiphanies worked.   
  
She was done running from the Doctor, but now that she’d made the decision to let him in fully – a thing terrifying beyond belief – it was amplified by the fear that it might all be for nothing.   
  
“Hey,” Jack’s voice cut into her musings. “He’s going to be all right, River.” She nodded, not trusting her voice for a moment. She’d lost so much; she couldn’t help but fear that the Doctor would be added to the list just as she finally fully accepted what he meant to her. Whatever emotions she was trying to hide, she wasn’t doing a good enough job because Jack seemed to sense she needed some comfort. He came up behind her, wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged until she looked at him. “He’s too goddamn stubborn to give up without a fight.”  
  
River gave a watery smile, because that was something she couldn’t argue against. She nodded wordlessly in acknowledgment, before wheeling on her heel and staring out the window again.  
  
“And not to sound like I’ve got a thing for necrophilia,” Jack added in a musing voice, “but he still has a fantastic arse for a supposed dead man.”   
  
She threw him a feigned glare, then eased into a smirk. “Yes, well, you won’t be hearing any complaints from me on that. Never figured I’d go for a skinny bloke, but—”  
  
“Oh, please. Don’t tell me the attraction wasn’t instantaneous. If you hadn’t called dibs, I would’ve already been all over him. At least put me out of my misery and tell me he’s a bad shag?”  
  
“Sorry, nope,” she offered shamelessly. “Quite splendid, actually.”  
  
“I  _knew_  it!” he exclaimed triumphantly, jabbing a pointed finger at her. “You slept with him.”   
  
Busted, she realized belatedly. She hadn’t shared the particularities of their little tryst all those months back with  _anybody_ , not even Jack. She didn’t know why. Jack would hardly judge her for it as the man had progressive and liberal ideas when it came to sex, some that even rivaled her own, but this was different. River had judged herself in stark negative light over the fact that she had found out the Doctor had been involved in John’s death, and then slept with the Doctor the same day. How was that anything less than mortifying?   
  
River needed to keep the mood light, for her own sanity if nothing else, so she simply offered a wry smile.  
  
“So how long have you two been doing the horizontal cha-cha?”  
  
“It happened just the once,” River confessed, then added in a cheeky tone, “And it wasn’t all that horizontal, either. The nearest flat surface actually turned out to be the wall.”  
  
Jack barked an appreciative laugh, and River couldn’t help it, she laughed along and this time more genuinely; she could just imagine the look of abject horror on the Doctor’s face, all blushing and embarrassed, at the thought of the two of them discussing him like this. The thought only made her laugh  _harder_.   
  
After the moment passed, she sobered quickly, then grew distressed again, slanting Jack a look. “You don’t—don’t think it’s strange, do you? Me and the Doctor, after what happened with John.” She paused, painfully. “How he died.”  
  
God only knew what twisted fate had brought them together – River Song and the Doctor. Any other man that had held a hand in John’s death, she would’ve killed outright. Now, she was facing the harsh reality that she may have fallen for the Doctor just as hard as she had initially fallen for John.   
  
What did that make her?  
  
“Hey,” Jack said. “You know what John would say? He’d say he’d want you to be happy. To love again.”  
  
In fact, that had been pretty much his exact words in his farewell video.  _Live, River. Love again, laugh again, and be happy._  River closed her eyes and turned back to the window again, hoping against the rational parts of her mind that wherever John was, he wouldn’t be looking down and judging River for her involvement with the Doctor.   
  
With a steadying breath, River forced herself to refocus. “You really didn’t think we were dead, did you? When you heard the news?”  
  
“Naw,” Jack returned easily.  
  
But she turned to study him, noting the faint flicker of doubt in his eyes and had the painful realization that maybe he had. Jack had one hand stuffed into the pockets of his favorite overcoat; despite the chill of the February cold, she was suddenly warmed by his proximity and the memory of all the times she’d relied on Jack for his unyielding friendship. It stung to realize she might have caused him grief, no matter how temporary.   
  
She braced a hand against his arm, conveying her apology with the contrite look. “I couldn’t tell you,” she explained. “It’s gotten too dangerous. The Doctor – his friends—”  
  
“I heard,” Jack cut in, soothingly. “The whole world has heard.”  
  
River flinched. Today was certainly a historic day – the day the Queen was killed. “Tell me the truth, how bad is it out there?”  
  
Jack grimaced. “Bad. Why do you think I returned to my safehouse? No one knows about this place except people I trust with my life, and everybody is lying low tonight, even the hardcore criminals. Martial law over all of Great Britain was declared three hours ago.”  
  
River’s face darkened, remembering Kovorian’s ominous promise. Everything was falling into place, and somewhere out there, the Doctor’s friends were being rounded up and laid to blame for the assassination of the century. Troubled, River braced herself against a wall and blew out an exasperated breath. “What do you know?” she asked him. “Have you heard anything?”  
  
“You’re the second person to ask me that tonight, and I’ll tell you what I told the first guy. I know nothing. I may be the man who has his finger in many pie holes – innuendo intended, of course – but even this one is beyond me. Today caught  _everyone_  by surprise.” He gestured wide, then handed her another bottle of beer, brushing aside her scraps of litter to sit against the corner of his dinning room table. “I can only offer my humble abode. No advice.”  
  
River smiled at him. “Your hospitality is  _greatly_  appreciated.”  
  
“Not as much as the cold beer, though, right?”  
  
She grinned back. Given that he truly was a Jack of all trades, she knew he was risking a lot by helping them out. He had enough skills and contacts to disappear out of any hairy situation, and after a day like today, slipping under the radar would’ve been the smart thing to do. Instead, he was throwing in his lot with River and the Doctor, the Silence’s two most wanted individuals. Sometimes, River thought she didn’t deserve the loyalty of a man like Jack. She had no idea what she’d ever done to deserve it, but it was just another thing she chalked up to owing her former fiancé. John had introduced them to each other. She’d met one Captain Jack Harkness well over a decade ago, and what should have been just another handy asset that was easy on the eyes swiftly turned into the beginning of a beautiful friendship.   
  
A sudden thought occurred to her. Jack had spent years working as a go-between for MI6 agents and criminals alike.  
  
“Do me a favor?” River asked him. “Get in touch with your contacts at MI6? Find out what’s going on?”  
  
Jack released a huffy breath. “River, MI6 has been entirely gutted. After what happened today, every single agent has gone to ground. They’re hiding deeper than career criminals.”  
  
“I know. Just–just try?”  
  
After a lengthy pause, Jack rolled his eyes and said, “Why not? Sure. I’ll make a few calls—”  
  
The bedroom door finally opened, and Canton came back out, wiping his hands on a hand-towel. “Lucky bastard,” he declared. “Black and blue, and he’s suffering like hell from post-shock therapy – not something you want to try at home, folks – but he’ll be fine.”  
  
River let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding. “Broken ribs? Internal bleeding?”  
  
“Neither,” Canton declared. “Just bruised ribs, and beat to hell. Though I can’t be certain without a CT or MRI, but I suspect you don’t have one of those contraptions lying around in a closet somewhere?”  
  
“Sorry,” Jack volunteered, “always forget to stock up on those.”  
  
Canton turned to River. “How many volts of electricity did he take?”  
  
“A lot,” River was only able to answer, feeling unhelpful.  
  
Canton sighed. “Well, then, fuck it,” he said, tiredly. He grabbed River’s bottle and without asking, took a swig. River resisted the urge to scowl. “Not really anything you can do other than keep him in bed for a few days.”  
  
“River won’t have a problem with that,” Jack offered wryly.  
  
River elbowed him in the rib, and turned back to Canton. “You were saying?”  
  
“Keep him rested and comfortable by wrapping his abdomen up and giving him something  _major_  for the pain. Most people use Motrin. Me? I like Vicodin. I can’t prescribe it to you, but if you get some, mind if I get in on your stash?” Both River and Jack stared at the man, unamused. “Right,” Canton said, sighing. “No one ever gets my humor. Look, just use ice packs for 20 minutes on then 20 minutes off to help the swelling. If he gets a cold while his ribs are healing, then it gets more complicated. Pneumonia is the major concern, so try to keep him warm.”  
  
“That’s all?”  
  
“That, and my fee,” Canton said, with a smile. He waved a finger between them. “Who do I see about that?”  
  


* * *

  
  
Two hours later, she sat down next to the Doctor’s bed and checked on him one more time. He was lying prone on his back. His breathing, which had been more ragged and uneven when she had brought him in earlier, had now evened out into smooth, slow breaths. He was still passed out, but she felt a sense of relief. She leaned back tiredly in the chair next to him and felt the tension ease out of her back. Canton had already wrapped his chest up, and inserted an intravenous line into the Doctor’s arm to give him hydration. River was instructed to replace the saline bag every so often, but other than keeping his abdomen iced in twenty minute alternates, and keeping his bandages clean, she really didn’t have much to do. Thankfully, as playing Florence Nightingale was hardly one of River’s aspirations. She just wanted to help, though.   
  
It wasn’t long before he began to stir awake again. She could tell he was overwhelmed the first few seconds, very groggy, dizzy and probably with a hundred and one aches through his body. Still, it was relief that tore through her as he slowly opened his eyes.   
  
“Hello, sweetie,” she greeted affectionately. He tried to raise his head but quickly abandoned the venture. "Don’t move,” she advised him, keeping her voice low and gentle. “You’re not well enough."   
  
"River?" he asked, so disoriented that it was a bewildered question.   
  
“Who else?” she offered, and reached for a glass of water. River held the cup to his lips and was supporting his head as she helped him drink it. The Doctor took a long, grateful swallow, gulping down all the water in the cup at once. “Doctor, if you ever scare me like that again—”  
  
“I’m okay," he automatically mumbled, even while she knew he had no evidence to back it up. He was still pale and disoriented, and it even took him longer than a few beats to realize his shirt was gone and there was a large white bandage around his lower chest. With a frown, he pulled up the bedclothes and found he had very little on underneath the blankets.  
  
“River,” he squeaked out, growing scandalized. “ _I’m naked!_ ”  
  
“Hmmm,” River agreed, appreciatively.   
  
There was a pregnant pause that followed. "You—you did all this?" he choked out, voice a bit high-pitched.  
  
“Well,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “Jack helped.”  
  
The Doctor gave a groan, collapsing back onto the bed in heated embarrassment.   
  
"Oh, relax!” River chided him, unable to help herself. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before. And Jack – well, he’s  _Jack_. The male form is hardly a mystery to him. Oh, but I can see you’re a bit embarrassed anyway. I guess we shouldn’t have taken all those pictures, yes? Posted them on website entitled “In Doctors We Lust.” Already have over two-thousand hits and it’s only been up for six hours—”  
  
“River!”   
  
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Oh, relax, I’ll make it up to you by giving you a sponge-bath later.”  
  
Bless – his ears perked up immediately, eyes darting about as he immediately struggled to contain his excitement over the prospect. He tried to maintain some of his irritation, but it was a rather poor attempt. There was that adorable faint blush clinging to him, but goodness, at least he had  _color._  He’d gone so pale and still for so long, River nearly sank back in her chair in relief to find him animated again. Though, she spoke too soon, as he tried to move again and winced for his troubles, letting out a pained hiss through clenched teeth.   
  
“Bruised ribs,” she informed him. “You’re lucky it wasn’t anything more serious.”  
  
“I feel like I was rolled up in a taco and eaten by an angry monster and then spat up again in protest.”  
  
“Yes, well, that's what happens when you're beaten and electrocuted multiple times,” River pointed out, grimacing. “You’re gonna stay in bed for a few days to recoup.”  
  
“Is this the part where you offer to keep me company?”  
  
She feigned an eye-roll. “Get a man naked in bed and he expects the world. What kind of girl do you think I am?”  
  
“My kind,” he offered, shamelessly.   
  
River was caught in the stare that followed, unable to pull her eyes away. “I’m all yours, sweetie.”   
  
She carefully covered the distance between them, crawling over the small breadth of the king-size bed towards his end; she made sure she didn’t touch anything, lest his injuries act up, but as she tucked her feet under her and stared down at him, River was tempted to risk it. Dusting a hand across his brow to remove a strand of hair from his eyes, she found the Doctor’s gaze darkening. She was holding a respectful distance, but  _oh,_  how she wanted to breach that space.   
  
So, she bent her head down and kissed him again, just like she had in Demon’s Run – gentle, almost teasing as she explored the contours of his lips, but this time the Doctor caught her by the back of her head, holding her there as his tongue probed gently into her mouth. She had planned for a more subtle approach than this; thought about talking first, or moving slowly, starting with a more deliberate build-up than just…  _kissing_  him with little forewarning, but then again he was hardly complaining. His hands sunk into the curls of her hair, pressing her to him.   
  
It had been months since he’d touched her like this, and she didn't realize how desperately her body had responded to his.   
  
“Doctor,” she breathed out, remembering herself.  
  
“Oh, let’s not ruin the moment with pesky  _talking_.”  
  
He swiftly followed up by trailing kisses all down the side of her face until he was necking her, all pressure and wetness – she didn’t move, pinned; she didn’t say a word in response as the Doctor continued to tease her body with light touches and feather kisses. He tugged her body closer, attempting to coax her leg up and over his. She resisted, but she  _did_  shift closer and the blanket pooled around his hips barely conserving any modesty. She couldn’t help the drugged feeling that surged through her body. They were both exhausted and he was injured, and she knew if anything, she should stop this before they got carried away, or at least talk about what was shifting between them. But in River’s experience there was little to be said about matters of the heart that wasn’t much better left demonstrated.   
  
Then he rolled his tongue over the ridge of her ear. She gasped softly and her fingers squeezed encouragement over his hold on her. A sharp fire kindled inside her, her axis tilted, and River found herself wanting to lie alongside him on that bed, stretch out as gloriously naked as he was – but the sight of his bandages stopped her. The room was dark, with only a dim light in the corner. The temptation to crawl under the covers with him was nearly  _intoxicating_.  
  
She pulled back, resting her forehead against his and sighed gently. “You’re an impossible man, you know that?” she told him in a small whisper. “Never can do things the right way between us.”  
  
“You don’t have to stop,” he pointed out, helpfully.  
  
“Oh, yes we do, before I pull something of yours and not in a  _fun_  way.”  
  
He made a face, pulling back and mumbling in irritation, “That’s not fair.”   
  
She smirked, perhaps enjoying his chagrin a bit too much because he resembled such a disgruntled adolescent in that moment. It always amazed her how he could jump back and forth between youth and experience so effortlessly, and it was never more apparent than in this instance.   
  
He moved restlessly under the blankets, actually  _pouting._  “You’ve seen all my bits and pieces and technically, I haven’t had the privilege of seeing you in your birthday suit – despite the fact that we’ve, y’know…”   
  
The sentence was left unfinished, but there was no ambiguity to it. Their little tête-à-tête all those months ago had been spontaneous and explosive, but it had also been hasty, without the benefits of a good  _long_  exploration. Neither of them had managed to discard more than a few essential items in clothing in their rush to satiate their immediate urges. She supposed it  _was_  unfair of her, to have seen him naked when he hadn’t had the opportunity to return the favor.  
  
But then again, River never played fair.   
  
“Play your cards right,” she promised him with a wink, “and you might get a little private show later on.”  
  
The Doctor – bless – actually  _giggled_. She climbed off the bed to remove the temptation, which quickly turned his amusement into a groan. She shrugged off his protests, not sure if she was worried more about him starting up things or her own resolve crumbling. Instead, glibly, she told him to get some sleep and reached for the doorknob when he stopped her at the threshold. She turned around.   
  
“What?” she asked, with a sinful smile.  
  
But he was serious now, she could tell. The soft features of his youth were marred by the colorful bruising peaking out from behind his bandages, but that had nothing on the toll that his expression took. “What changed your mind?” he asked in a low voice, but he was hesitant now, almost as if he were afraid of the answer. “About us? About me? Something happened back there in Demon’s Run – what changed your mind?”  
  
The teasing smile dropped from her lips, a sober mood sinking into the space between her shoulder blades. “Oh, Doctor,” she told him, almost sadly. “I never really had a choice in the matter.”  
  
Without explaining herself or clarifying the words, she flipped the light-switch off and plunged him into complete darkness. She’d have to return shortly to keep an eye on him through the night, just in case, but for now she thought some distance might benefit to cool libidos. She turned on her heels and walked down the empty corridor, aware that things had just begun with them and already she felt hopelessly lost – gone, a fool for him. It seemed River Song didn’t know how to love any other way.  
  
She just hoped this time it wouldn’t end with her heart in broken shards again.  
  


* * *

  
  
When he next awoke, the stark darkness told him it was still nighttime, but a glance at the clock told him it was actually approaching early morning, a quarter passed four. He groaned, closing his eyes, before prying them back open again to make out the blurry image of River sleeping in the ottoman chair by his bedside. Though it looked very comfortable to sit and read a book, the chair was not exactly conducive to slumber. Somehow, though, River looked… softer. For a woman that had waged a crusade and made it look easy, he sometimes forgot how much weight she actually carried on her shoulders. The woman asleep in front of him looked ten years younger. A small blanket had been thrown haphazardly over her shoulder, her neck and body all bent at weird angels; it couldn’t have been that restful a sleep, proven fact when his slight movement was enough to prod her awake.   
  
Dark eyelashes fluttered, and even in the darkness he could tell the strangeness of the environment threw her. It took a second, and then she inhaled a slow deep breath and relaxed. “Hey,” she whispered out, groggily.  
  
His limbs felt heavy and his thoughts slow, but he stretched out a hand across the bedspread towards her. “C’mon,” he whispered back. “There’s no point in you spending the entire night in that chair.”  
  
A look fell across her face. “Doctor,” she protested.  
  
“Honorable intentions, River,” he interrupted, feigning a scandalized tone. He held up his right hand as if taking an oath. “This bed is big enough for two, and I’m halfway unconscious right now anyway. Couldn’t try anything even if I  _wanted_  to.”  
  
She raised an eyebrow, a cheeky look that accused him of more than enough; he had the grace to throw a sheepish look back. They both knew he could easily be fully awakened, given the right incentive, but they were both exhausted. His injuries were another concern but the Doctor was entirely dismissive about them; always had been. It didn’t matter that his muscles and abdomen felt on fire. He’d taken a few Motrin but refused the truckload of better painkillers that Jack had offered. He’d deal with the pain. He’d had bruised ribs before and it wasn’t the end of the world. Hurt like hell, but there was nothing to do but let it heal with time. Though, by tomorrow, he fully intended to be up and moving about – he didn’t care if his self-prescribed caretaker had an issue with that, even if she was rather intimidating when cross.   
  
Bed rest was for those that could afford it.   
  
After a lengthy moment of silence, River rose and took a step towards the bed. He slid back along the mattress to make room for her, but when she lifted the blanket to slip in, they were both abruptly reminded of the fact that he was naked underneath. She hesitated, their eyes connecting in the darkness – then she took another deep breath and slipped into bed, wiggling right up against him with her backside in a way that had the Doctor sucking in a sharp breath.   
  
“Night, Doctor,” she said in a teasing voice, closing her eyes.  
  
Evil woman.  
  
Evil,  _temptress_  woman.  
  
He glared at her profile, which she blissfully ignored. She was wearing a dark nightgown; he couldn’t really tell the color because it was too dark and everything looked black because of the shadows, but it was full-length and soft, and even though he’d always imagined that River slept nude – okay, so that was how he  _fantasized_  it anyway – he found that he liked the soft feeling against his palms as he ran a hand down over her hip. She opened her eyes and shot him a look, and he sighed, relenting.   
  
Still, with a pout, and then a contemplating raise of his eyebrows, he hesitated before tiptoeing fingers and then an arm inch-by-inch around her waist; River responded by snuggling back closer to him, and he grinned. He gave into the indulgence of tangling her curls around his knuckles and burying his face into her wild locks. For a brief second, the sweet smell of her shampoo clouded his senses and made him doubt that he would be able to honor any of his good intentions for the night. Before his better judgment could stop him, he placed a modest kiss on her shoulder. When she sighed heavily, his hand slid down the side of her leg.   
  
“Sleep, Doctor,” she reminded him, eyes still closed. “You’re in no condition to be letting your hand – or your thoughts – wander so far down south.”  
  
He puffed out a breath. “River Song, no matter the condition of my body, I can assure you that my brain is more than capable of a trip down to the gutter. Especially when it comes to _you_.”  
  
“How about we wait until your body can cash those checks, then? As much as I’d like to jump you right now, the doctor’s orders were to rest.”  
  
“The only doctor’s orders I ever follow are my own,” he insisted in a petulant voice. “And I’m telling you that I am fully capable of handling a few of your acrobatic moves, should you feel the need to demonstrate that jumping thing you were talking about there.”  
  
She giggled. “Doctor,” she intoned in a soft admonishing voice. “I thought you said you wouldn’t try any funny business?”  
  
“Those honorable intentions were thwarted by a more powerful entity. My brain.”  
  
“Oh, so you’re being controlled by your  _brain_  now, are you?” she teased, and if her eyes hadn’t been stubbornly screwed shut, he was sure they would’ve been rolling. “Now, stop with the banter – don’t think I can’t see what you’re trying to do. Go to sleep or I’m leaving the bed, Doctor.”  
  
Sighing, he closed his eyes and settled down with a frown. “All right, fine. But if you feel the need to accost me at any point during the night, I’m willing to put up with it. Just so you know.”  
  
“Duly noted. Now go to  _sleep_.”  
  
He tried to focus on deeper breaths, hoping that the intoxicated feeling would pass. She yawned, and then so did he, and apparently his body wasn’t as shameless as his libido was, or maybe he really  _was_  that exhausted, because it was easier than he expected to let the stillness wash over him. River was nice and cuddly up against him, warm and pleasant and soft. It wasn’t long before he was asleep without even realizing it.   
  
He woke up again a few hours later in the greyish pre-dawn hours. The bed creaked and the Doctor pried his eyes open, vision blurry, trying to decipher the noise before a form solidified before him in the darkness. The patch of moonlight through the bay windows illuminated the room, but only dimly and then only partially, and it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust. When they did, he found River staring at him, lying at his side, a look of quiet contemplation affixed on her face. He was acutely aware of the freckles on her nose, bare of any hint of make-up, and how the strap of her nightgown had slid off one shoulder.  
  
The blanket was riding low on her back and unable to keep his hands entirely to himself, he raised a hand to sweep across her spine, then up towards her hair, but there was just so _much_  of it that he kept repeating the action, fascinated and enthralled, until her hand came to join his to halt the motion. Her eyelids fluttered open, lips parted and pink and suddenly he felt pinned by the look in her eyes, a dark swirl of emotion that told him she must’ve been awake for some time before him.  
  
He wondered what she’d been thinking about, but a part of him already knew. There were no shortages of things to worry about. The past twenty-four hours was filled with the utter calamity of so many misfortunes. Somewhere out there, save for this woman in his arms, every single person he loved and trusted in the world was being round up and imprisoned. Amy, Rory, Martha, Mickey, Rose and Donna – they were all being used as pawns. Melody was still lost to them. The Queen was dead, and Kovorian had won another round flawlessly. His heart sank with each additional tally, and he dropped his eyes away in shame, realizing that he was caught in a naked moment of domesticity with River while so many suffered. It shamed him, but not enough to avoiding confronting the real truth.  
  
He was in love with River Song. Hopelessly, utterly, completely.  
  
Funny, how the world worked sometimes.   
  
He kissed her then, because he just needed to quiet the voices in his head, but then it was another entity entirely that was governing his motive. The Doctor explored her mouth with his own, and there was nothing tender or sweet about the kiss. Intense and drawn-out, the kiss shot a flare of desire through his body. All of the feelings that he had fought over, ever since meeting this woman, were expelled – lust, anger, confusion, and love. Restraint shattered, and River gave as good as she got. Whatever earlier reservations there were over his injuries, he overruled them. Even if he’d been suffering from a mortal wound, it wouldn’t have stopped him from continuing this. Hands threaded through her hair and then it was shocking, how much he wanted this. How much he needed her. A need that went far beyond what could be satisfied with simple kisses.  
  
Drunk, in one quick rush the synapses of his brain fired off one after another and he thought about the last few months and how many times he’d resisted reaching across to kiss her; how many times he’d stopped himself from breaching the space between them and forcing her to confront what they had; how many times he’d fantasized about making love to her or fucking her or – even just the little things, like how she’d look post-coital and blissed out, and a surge of possessive curiosity shot through him. He wanted to see that, River Song all sweaty and well-fucked, not a care in the world. He wanted to smell the scent of sex on her skin, and press himself alongside her, naked skin-to-skin.   
  
He realized he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman in his entire life, in a way that drove him wild and it didn’t make sense, not one bloody bit, because she was the complete opposite of him and yet the perfect counterpart. It was hard for him not to realize that this had gone well passed the point of attraction and lust and even affection, beyond any of his past loves.  
  
He kissed her, over and over again, plunging his tongue into her mouth and she moaned, releasing this little tiny noise from the back of her throat that only did more to embolden him. He shifted down and placed kisses along her neck and collarbone. She lay prone on the mattress for a beat, breathing heavily, and he couldn’t stop; her fingers moved across his back to his shoulder blades, and he didn’t have a stitch of clothing on except for the bandages. She was made aware of the situation quickly forming beneath the sheets when he pressed alongside her, ignoring the pinch of pain that widened when he moved because the sensation was quickly overridden by other more pleasant ones. His hands found her waist, curling against the slight protrusion of her hips while he held her still, dragging the weight of his body over hers. His hot and quick breaths blew through the curls around her face  
  
Her hands slipped up around his neck, and she breathed out, “Doctor,” in a voice so faint, so soft, he had to strain to hear it. “We shouldn’t. You’re—”  
  
“We really,  _really_  should,” he insisted, and kissed her again.  
  
She rolled onto her back, and moaned in something resembling half-resigned and half-eager. Encouraged, his mouth and hands went everywhere, all at once, mapping out her body by touch and feel because these contours deserved to be worshiped religiously. He reached over to trace his fingers across the ridge of her collarbone, down the length of her arm, across to her tiny waist, then swept back up to palm one of her breasts in his hands, his touch reverent and soft. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the audacious little bead of sweat as it slid from the edge of her hairline down to her throat.  
  
He tugged the length of her nightgown higher so that it pooled around waist. She was wearing a dark cobalt blue pair of knickers, his favorite color, and he wondered – no, he  _knew_  – that she’d planned for him to see it at some point. With a groan, he rolled her underwear carefully down her thighs. River lifted her body slightly to help him divest her of the material, and her body settled back down against the mattress again. The pain in his chest was a delicious sacrifice to the sight before him.  
  
“This,” he said in a cocky tone, unable to stop himself, “is just what the Doctor ordered.”  
  
“Oh, sweetie,” she breathed out, laughing.  
  
She stopped laughing when he shifted down the bed, his intentions clear. He kissed her at first, at the apex of her hips, then bit at her inner thigh, probably too hard but her hips bucked up and she moaned a little, with her hand tightening against the back of his head. The first lap of his tongue across her clit dragged a cry from her throat and he  _loved_  that sound, could build an altar for it just for worship. He mouthed her clit while the soft pad of his tongue ran over once, twice, before he latching on hard. River gasped loudly as she pushed her head back into his pillow, and the sound unexpectedly eased the sharp tightness in his chest – and soon she was releasing those small, choked noises from her throat. Noises that would drive any sane person mad, and no one had ever accused the Doctor of having any shred of sanity left in the first place. God, this woman would be his undoing.  
  
Her writhing caused the bedpost to thud against the wall, and the feeling building inside him dragged another groan from his lips. He drew her clit into his mouth, and River was bucking up against him, the frantic fight for release, fingers tangled in his hair, moans in her throat. Her muscles spasmed with a warning and when she came, it was with a scream loud enough to wake poor Jack in the living room, and the possessive sonofabitch in the Doctor preened, so insufferably smug that he was the one causing that sound to leave her. He could feel one corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.  
  
Afterwards, he wasn’t really sure who was breathing heavier – her or him. His eyes closed, needing a moment to regroup. The sudden respite alerted him to other concerns. His sides were killing him, and the pain that had started out dull was now like battery acid running through his chest.  
  
“Are you—” she began, anxiously, knowingly. “Are you okay?”   
  
He lied with a nod of his head, but needed a moment to catch his breath because he suddenly felt dizzy, propped up over her weakly on his forearms like a broken doll. He concentrated instead on the feel of her palms sliding up and down his arms, her fingers stroking the natural lines of muscles. He touched her stomach, his hand seemingly massive where it splayed across her ribs, pushing upwards under the material of her nightgown until he was cupping her breast, thumbing her nipple.   
  
He swallowed as he pressed his forehead against her stomach, feeling her trembling and warm and gripping at his wrist. Her hands come down to tangle in his hair and he sighed again because it distracted from the pain. His chest felt inexplicably tight, and he was dragging air into his lungs with effort. The air felt stagnate.   
  
Anxiety marred her features. “Oh, my love,” she whispered out, and he had a moment to revel in the sentiment of that title.   
  
He wanted to keep touching her, wanted to never  _stop._  Before he could refute her concern, she was gently pushing him back so that he eased onto his legs. He watched from up close while she fumbled with her nightgown, pulling it up and over her shoulders in such a rapid movement that her curls fell with a bounce as it landed back against her naked shoulders. Then he was staring at her, completely nude.  
  
“River Song,” he breathed out, drugged on the sight of her. “ _Gorgeous._ ”  
  
River’s eyes darkened. The Doctor was used to reading River, at looking into her eyes and encountering the immaculate masks she constantly used as armor, but now, now, he gazed up at her and felt like he saw through every single layer she had on, naked in far more than just the literal way. He saw her insecurities, her hesitations and fears of him – and what was even scarier was that he had the feeling she was seeing him just as clearly, and whole thing was exhilarating and terrifying and validating, because he realized that he hadn’t reached this complicated point in time by himself – that whatever he felt for River, as deeply indescribable as it was, she felt it too.   
  
She kissed him then, but her tempo was far softer than his –  _slower_. Her hands slid over his bare shoulders, snaked around his neck, but she was gentle with her touch, pushing him so that he reclined slowly, with a sharp hiss escaping his lips, and then he was flat against the mattress with River straddling him low across his legs. She stretched out over him and they kissed, hands fumbling, mouths latching onto patches of exposed skin, and then River started sliding down towards his waistline. She placed light kisses to his chest and hovered carefully over his bandages, while her hand palmed his erection. He groaned her name when she began to pump him, and his hips bucked up once, only to be rewarded with jolt of pain that reminded him of his injuries again.   
  
River shook her head, almost exasperated. “ _Don’t move,_ ” she instructed in a stern voice, as if such a thing were actually feasible while she was naked.  
  
“River,” he whined, but then she took his dick into her mouth.  
  
He went incoherent after that, hand falling to fist in her hair. She took a moment to adjust to the length and width of him, then slid her mouth down the base of his erection, taking him in as fully as she could. He found himself cursing, using language that he normally hated by the light of day but River’s ministrations had all thought going out of his head. She kept on him, working her hand up and down his shaft in time with the journey of her mouth. The Doctor leaned back and screwed his eyes shut, and she had him entirely, the power and control given over.   
  
“River,” he eventually protested. “I can’t… I can’t hold off much longer… don’t…” he groaned.  
  
He wanted her to stop, but River only sped up, continuing to suck him off with a relentlessness that was coaxing the Doctor to a quick release. Which, he realized in some distant fog, was probably her intention. She probably figured she’d spare him further strain if this happened quickly. The thought should’ve annoyed him – would’ve, because he wanted to  _explore_ and take his time, do everything he hadn’t gotten to do with her the last time – but sweat broke out across his skin and his fingers were clenched white-knuckled around the bed sheets.   
  
The groans turned back to curses,  _“No, no, no, no you don’t have to – you don’t –River, stop. I can’t, oh fuck,”_  and then he reached the tipping point, where he switched over from no to “yes, fuck, River,  _yes.”_    
  
He cursed her name once more, and then came with a rough bark that left River swallowing several times. In the aftermath, he got his breathing under control and noticed the persistent pain in his sides had faded away for a brief moment. His screwed his eyes shut and the exhaustion abruptly overcame him like a tidal wave.   
  
He was unprepared when she leaned over him and he breathed in, smelling the citrus of her hair and the smell of salty sweat and sex and the softness of her skin against his arm where hers were pressing into his. In the aftermath, he realized he was unprepared for a lot of things, like how heavy and weighted this moment felt, full of subtext and all the things he couldn’t say. She wasn’t expecting him to grab her and drag her mouth to his, and her surprised grunt was swallowed up with his mouth.   
  
“River,” he stuttered out, when he could finally manage. “That wasn’t what I wanted tonight. I wanted— _more_.”  
  
She smiled brazenly at him, looking very pleased with herself, then stretched over him to press a kiss to his forehead. “Later,” she promised. “When you’re not so banged up.”  
  
He could have made a joke about  _banging_ , but that seemed a little too on the nose, even for him. Besides, the dawning comprehension of just how  _much_  River meant to him was both terrifying and exhilarating, and his normal ability to sweep aside anything with a joke was found strangely absent for the moment. He’d always known or had the gut-instincts that she’d be the one, but it was undeniable now and he’d be lying if a part of him didn’t want to  _run_  from that. How was anyone ever supposed to follow the act of River Song? She’d be impossible to get over, and he could already see the devastation she’d leave in her wake – and this would all end eventually. Things always did in his life.  
  
The tension in him was quickly disrupted when there was a loud thud against the bedroom wall and Jack yelling,  _“Keep it down in there, will you?”_  The reminder of his presence on the other side of the thin wall sent both River and the Doctor into peels of laughter, but the Doctor quickly subsided because his abdomen was protesting now in a way that hadn’t been a priority before.   
  
River moved to the side, collapsing against the strewn bed sheets with a laugh. “I’d feel rather guilty about this little escapade if you hadn’t been so  _insistent_  about it. Not that I’m complaining.”   
  
The adoration on her face coupled with her afterglow was an ego-boost. He hadn’t had many bedfellows before, and it was a pesky thing he had always worried about, not that he’d ever admit it to anyone – but with River, he already knew they’d be nothing short of spectacular. She cuddled against him, and the Doctor threw a hand over her waist. The minutes passed by, and apparently his body, blissfully satiated and simultaneously protesting the exertion, refused to stay awake much longer.   
  
In the darkness, the Doctor couldn’t stop himself from thinking one last thing before slumber finally overtook him: it was a foregone conclusion in his life that things always ended, usually painfully, but he had the feeling that nothing would hurt more than when things with River came to an end.   
  


* * *

  
  
Blades of light filtering through the drapes told her it was broad daylight, probably even approaching late morning. River had been up for a while but she’d barely been aware of anything except the warm weight of the Doctor against her back. She could gladly spend the rest of her day in bed with him, and not find much complaint. But the bruises and shock burns on his chest and abdomen was a clear reminder that, in fact, the fate of the world rested at stake. With a deep breath, she turned to press a kiss to his shoulder before climbing stealthily over his slumbering body. She pulled her clothes on quickly and silently, donning on a pair of casual blue jeans and an off-white tanktop, then reached into her throw bag and tucked a small sidearm under the waistband of her trousers.   
  
She used the bathroom and winced at her reflection in the mirror, finding her hair in absolute disarray. She spent a couple of minutes running her fingers through it, but it was almost hopeless and she realized she was going to have to venture out to raid supplies. She’d been hoping to avoid that if she could help it. Not much point in a safehouse if you left it too often.  
  
Before she left the bedroom, she tossed one last look towards the Doctor to find him still knocked out cold. She ended up studying his profile in the blades of light, noting the dip of his neck and the silhouette of his messy hair. He had always been strikingly handsome, but there was something indescribably attractive about him when he was asleep, and not even the faint bruising near his left eye distracted from that.  
  
She wandered down the hallway expecting to find Jack in the living room or the kitchen – instead she found the front entrance left wide open and a strange unfamiliar man standing in the foyer. River stopped dead in the hallway, and in a flash had her gun drawn at him.  
  
“Hi,” the man said, with raised hands. “Nice to meet you, too.”  
  
He was a tall man, with close-cropped hair and eyes that would’ve looked friendly enough had they not belonged to a man caught breaking and entering. “Who are you?” she demanded in a hard-edged tone.  
  
“Guess you wouldn’t believe me if I said I was the landlord?” he mused in a wry tone, eyeing the gun with a distinct lack of fear. She stared at him coldly. “Right, well, then. How do I know you’re here invited anymore than me?”  
  
“You don’t,” River permitted with a casual shrug. “But I have the gun so I get to ask the questions.”  
  
“Funny thing, I don’t like guns. How about we put that away and then we can have a nice reasonable conversation?”   
  
River ran her gaze up and down the length of him, calculating his risk factor. Not only was he tall, but he had the build of someone who looked like he knew how to handle himself in a fight – not muscular, but lean. Well-toned. And he wore an ensemble full of dark clothes – black leather jacket, dark trousers, and a burgundy v-neck jumper. It was non-descript and almost uniform, like a man who wanted to blend in with a crowd.   
  
“The gun stays,” River determined. “Up against the wall. Spread ‘em.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow, sardonically. “But we’ve only just met.”  
  
He was a cheeky bastard, River mused appreciatively. “Do it, or next time I won’t ask so prettily.”  
  
The man complied, threading fingers together behind his head and turning to face the wall. River approached him steadily, and she had a thought to call out for the Doctor for backup – out of the corner of her eye, she looked briefly towards the hallway, and that was her mistake.   
  
The man reacted with startling swiftness. He reached for a nearby lamp to lob at her, and it knocked her gun away. River reacted to the threat. She slammed a hard boot against his chest and delivered an extra kick that left her opponent groaning. When she advanced on his doubled-over form, he rebounded swiftly with an elbow to her face, grabbed her right arm and twisted so that River screamed out. She traded a kick and combination strike maneuver but it ghosted off him. He stuck out his foot, trying to trip River but she responded with a block and pushed him back.   
  
For a brief split-second, as River looked across at the tall dark figure, she reassessed him with newfound respect. Assassin, River worried. How had the Silence found them? Or the agency? Whoever this man was, he certainly wasn’t a civilian.   
  
“Freeze,” the Doctor’s voice rang out, holding her gun. The commotion must’ve drawn him out. Then he stopped short, eyes-widening. “Wait, hang on,” he breathed out in shock to their intruder. “What are you doing here? I thought you were  _retired_?”  
  
“I thought you were  _dead_ ,” the man threw back with a frown. “So, I think I win this round. You’ve been alive this whole time?  _Fantastic_. Thanks for telling people, mate. What else did I miss? Been out of the game for a few years, and apparently the entire agency goes insane.”  
  
River whirled to the Doctor. “You know him?” she demanded, in utter confusion.  
  
“Yeah,” the Doctor replied, treading forward while lowering his weapon. “He was there when I first started with the agency. River Song, meet my original mentor at MI6:  _double-oh-nine._ ”


	14. Chapter 14

The Doctor hunched his shoulders against the wall buffering him from the washroom where 009 was cleaning off the blood from his knuckles. River was settled at the kitchen table. She threw him a dark look as she wiped away blood from her nose and then flung the washcloth angrily into the sink. The Doctor traded a weary look across the room with the unwitting host to this little domestic dispute. Jack's reappearance moments after River and 009 had been pulled apart had helped lighten the atmosphere, a little bit, but apparently not enough. Even with the Doctor's and Jack's reassurance, River had ended up eyeing 009 with staunch suspicion.  
  
The Doctor heard the faucet in the other room turn off, but before 009 could reemerge, River hissed in a whisper, "You sure we can trust him?"  
  
"With my  _life_ ," the Doctor responded. "We're lucky he showed up."  
  
River raised an eyebrow. "A little  _too_  lucky, if you ask me."  
  
The Doctor knew what she was hinting at - it was strange timing, even eerily fortuitous, but that wasn't what was really bothering River. The Doctor wasn’t sure how to rectify the ugly introductions made between her and his former mentor, except that he had to just let it all play out. It was perhaps a bit too generous to assume any conversation now would be amiable, but he couldn't let that distract him. Double-oh-nine’s presence was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, the Doctor could count unerringly on his mentor’s loyalty and help. On the other, it’d make things complicated because the entire nation was tearing itself apart looking for any culprits in the Queen’s assassination and MI6 agents were at the top of the list. The Doctor’s own status was clearly marked as KIA, but 009 brought with him the potential for fallout.  
  
Although…  
  
Fallout. Everything was about limiting fallout. It wasn’t that far off the mark to say that Kovorian had been making a sport of beating the Doctor and River at every turn, so the Doctor tentatively drew in a breath and reconsidered the wisdom of their gameplan. The more he tried to protect his friends, the more they caught the fallout.   
  
It was time the Doctor changed tactics.   
  
“You kicked me in the ribs,” Double-oh-nine announced, a tad disgruntled, as he reentered the kitchen, “with  _high heels_  on.”  
  
River smiled back, bitingly. “You elbowed me in the face. I’d say we’re even, darling.”  
  
With a raised eyebrow, Jack offered, “What’s a few punches and kicks? Let’s make proper introductions and start again. River Song, meet—”  
  
“No names,” his mentor cut in. “I don’t trust her. Just call me Nine.”  
  
River rose in a huff. “Don’t trust  _me?_ ”   
  
“You  _are_  the same River Song that should be serving out a life-sentence for murder? The same one that escaped and has known ties to the Silence—”  
  
“Nine,” the Doctor cut in quickly, when he saw River’s face redden with insult. “It’s not what you think.”  
  
“I really hope not, mate, because otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here waiting for an explanation. She’s a thief and a murderer.”  
  
“Right on one count,” River remarked. “Got a problem with thieves?”  
  
“I’m a spy. I point and  _laugh_  at thieves.”  
  
River strode forward a few steps, pitting herself against the towering frame of Nine. “You’re one to talk about trust. You come out of nowhere and we’re supposed to welcome you with open arms? And  _I’m_  the one that’s not to be trusted?”  
  
“Jack and the Doctor know me,” Nine countered, firmly. “We’re all friends.”   
  
“Oh, really?” she mocked back. “You always do a little breaking-and-entering at a friend’s flat, then?”  
  
“Actually, River,” Jack cut in, raising a hand. “You sorta did the same when you booted open the door and broke my lock when you—”  
  
“Shut up,” River warned Jack, then whirled back to Nine. “Convenient timing, really. What are you doing here, anyway?”  
  
Nine stared her down. “Jack gave me a ring last night. Wanted to know if I knew anything about what was going down at MI6. I may be retired, but I’ve still got an ear to the ground.”  
  
“With those big of ears,” River returned wryly, “I can’t imagine that’s too difficult a task.”  
  
“Erm, okay!” the Doctor said, breaking the strained tension between the two by flailing a gesticulating hand. He tried to squeeze himself in between, but neither was budging an inch. The Doctor wasn’t looking forward to seeing another round of fisticuffs break out, especially since he was intensely aware that either of them was capable of inflicting a scary amount of damage. “We all got off to a bad start. How about we shake on it and let bygones be bygones?”  
  
After a beat, River smiled. “What do you say?” she offered Nine, almost flirtatiously if not for the acid underlining it. “Kiss and make up?”  
  
Nine smiled back, nastily. “Already greeted me at the door with a kiss with a fist. I reckon that’s more than enough.”  
  
The Doctor was caught off-guard by the sudden indecision to feel concerned or  _jealous_. That option received the split-second consideration it deserved before he discarded it. He gently took River by the shoulders to lead away. With a huffy sigh, River allowed herself to be redirected back across to the kitchen table. Behind them, Nine remained rooted in his spot, arms folded over his chest.   
  
Nine had always been the suspicious sort of guy. It was probably that very same trait that had allowed him to survive so long as a double-oh agent. Not many agents made it to retirement – in fact, Nine was pretty much the only one that still had a heartbeat. He’d dropped off the radar seven or eight years ago, disappearing into the ether like he’d never existed in the first place. Rose used to mention him now and again, but even she had lost touch at some point.   
  
“So,” Nine said, “Anyone going to tell me what’s going on?”  
  
“Spoilers,” River offered with another biting smile.  
  
Nine glared at her. “The telly had some interesting things to say about our agency yesterday, and my sources are all confirming it: an MI6 conspiracy to kill the Queen?”  
  
“You really believe that?” Jack asked, askew.   
  
“Not for one second,” Nine answered. “Rose Tyler was arrested as one of the conspirators, and if she’s in on something like this, then I’m the bloody Queen.”  
  
Seemed a tad indelicate thing to say, given the circumstances, but no one commented. The Doctor took a breath. “It’s a long story.”  
  
Nine took a seat opposite River. “I like a good story as much as the next bloke.”  
  
It didn’t actually take that long to lay out, surprisingly. Despite the glare he got from River, the Doctor told the unvarnished story of the Silence and their agenda. He could tell that he had Jack’s silent support in letting Nine in on their plans; Nine had always been one of the most respected agents in the field, a reputation that had been hard-earned and justified by a series of rather brutal operations. The older man was as trained and as hardened as a soldier. Even now, even years after retirement, his body still looked lean and well-maintained. He hadn’t even updated his classic look of a leather jacket and dark trousers.   
  
It was a little surreal, actually. Staring across the table at his mentor, the Doctor compared himself to the man that Nine had trained all those years ago and it felt a bit like stepping into his bigger brother’s shoes – to be the one giving the debrief and laying out the account of an impossible tale, rather than the one listening to it. The Doctor had spent his formative years practically worshiping at the altar of Nine. They had a lot in common, but just as much in contrast. The Doctor had inherited a lot from Nine, but then again the older agent had always been far more comfortable with doling out violence if the need arose.   
  
“Funny sort of conspiracy,” Nine acknowledged, at the end of the Doctor’s explanation. “The Silence put a lot of energy into making this elaborate scheme, and then what? They tell you their grand plans a full four months before the Coronation. That seem at all dodgy to you?”  
  
“Kovorian is arrogant,” River said, knowingly. “She loves taunting her opponents.”  
  
Nine studied her for a beat, then said, “Your daughter. How old is she?”  
  
River tensed. “Another few months, and she'll be eight.”  
  
Nine watched her, but didn’t say a thing. The level of distrust seemed to fall a bit. Quietly, the Doctor shifted on his feet and planted his back against the wall, exchanging another knowing look with Jack. Nine’s reputation had always preceded him, but it had always been clouded in mystery as well. No one even knew his real name; he had alias after alias, and it worked so well with intimidating his enemies that the Doctor had taken a similar approach with his own moniker. But amidst the rumors and speculations, there was the faded whisper of a long-lost family. Nine had lost someone – that much was crystal clear. For as long as the Doctor had known him, Nine had walked around with the aura of a man shrouded by grief; some of the rumors mentioned children, a daughter in specific.  
  
Whether the rumors were true, no one knew. But the way Nine suddenly looked sympathetic towards River when minutes ago he’d been hostile, the Doctor decided that he was more inclined to believe in the rumors, after all.  
  
Nine scratched behind his ear and looked away. “So, what’s your plan, then? Fight this global conspiracy with the lot of you? Three people against a movement. Insane, are you?”  
  
“Generally speaking,” the Doctor answered, “Yes.”  
  
Nine suddenly broke out into an approving grin. “Now that’s my sorta answer. It’s all mental, but I suspect we’re going to have to fight something like this with nothing short of insanity.”  
  
The Doctor smirked and shifted to the side, earning a winch when there was a sharp spike of pain. His body was starting to crash. The adrenaline and worry that had awoken him earlier had left his body, and he was beginning to feel every inch of his injuries as freshly as he had ever felt anything. Though the soreness and tight muscles was a thing the Doctor wasn’t going to complain about, because any amount of agony was worth his late night activities with River. Still, the day had just begun and already it looked like he’d need to be fully up and alert during a time where his body was convinced a coma might not have been that bad an idea.   
  
Jack approached the table and laid his palms flat down on the surface. “What do you know?” he asked Nine.  
  
Nine sighed. “Rose, Mickey and Martha were the first to be arrested yesterday, and they took in Donna this morning. Arrested two other agents I’d never heard of—”  
  
“Amy Pond and Rory Williams,” the Doctor supplied, with a grimace. “They came on well after your time.”  
  
Nine picked up enough from the Doctor’s tone to pass along an acknowledging nod of sympathy. “That’s them.  _The six_ , people are calling them. I suspect there may be special trials held for them, but in the meantime they’re being shipped to a maximum-security facility just outside Sheffield.”  
  
River straightened in her chair. “Wait. There’s only one maximum security facility in Sheffield.”  
  
Nine nodded, and suddenly the Doctor and Jack were both looking at River with interest.  
  
“Well-trained guards,” River mused softly, like she was doing simple arithmetic in her head. “Heavily armed. And there's sophisticated electronic security too, with an intricate network of surveillance cameras and full lockdown capability. Holds almost a thousand of the most depraved criminals in all of Britain.”  
  
Nine threw her a suspicious look, eyes glinting. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting? Because we’re talking about the single-most secure containment facility in all of UK.”  
  
“Oh, yes. I’m quite familiar with the place.”  
  
Realization struck Nine like a lightning bolt. “This is the prison you broke out of, isn’t it?”  
  
“Twice,” the Doctor added, with unabashed pride. “The Warden has nightmares about her.”  
  
“Boys,” River spoke up gleefully, gaze sweeping past Nine and Jack before landing on the Doctor. “Pack your bags. We’re headed to  _Stormcage_.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Two nights later, it was pitch-dark and stormy as River settled into the co-pilot seat. Across from her, Nine looked at ease as he flew the cargo airplane through the tumultuous weather, but then again, he wasn’t the one that was going to be jumping out of the plane any minute now.   
  
“You sure about this?” Nine asked. The twin engines were loud enough that they both had to use durable headsets to communicate with each other. After another burst of static, River heard Nine’s voice clear in her ear, “Visibility is going to be low, and the winds might blow you off course.”   
  
River took a steadying breath, craning her neck to look out the rugged aircraft. Clouds covered the airspace, and a few times the sky lit up with the flash of lightning and the roll of thunder. There was enough gale force to knock her about like a ping-pong ball. Disconcerting, especially considering she was packing C4 along with her other supplies.   
  
She looked back and sighed. “We’re just going to have to manage.”  
  
“ _Try_ , you mean,” Nine pointed out, but didn’t fight her further on it.  
  
They both knew there was no going back. It was now or never. The Doctor had already begun his part in the plan, and they’d really only get the one chance at freeing everybody. River had thought enough about escaping during her own time served in Stormcage, but it was different with this many people. This many people meant it had to be a bigger plan, a better one.   
  
Or just more gutsy.   
  
She tied her hair back into a ponytale, and finished shrugging on her parachute pack over the black catsuit two-piece she had on. What she wouldn’t give to have seen the Doctor’s face when she’d slipped this little number one – actually, she’d worn something similar to this when they broke in to the Mycroft building back in Rio, but that wasn’t nearly the same now that they were sleeping together. She gave a brief frown and looked down at her watch, wondering how things on the Doctor’s end were going, or if Jack had managed to acquire the escape vehicle yet.   
  
The cargo plane was big and empty, but the turbulence was bad enough that it rumbled and shook the aircraft. “So,” Nine said, breaking the silence. “You do this sorta thing often?”  
  
She gave a brazen smile. “Often enough.”  
  
Nine shook his head. “Skydiving out of planes, jumping off buildings, escaping prison, stealing priceless art. You, River Song, are a mad woman.”  
  
“Why, Nine, is that a  _compliment_?”  
  
He huffed a breath and looked away, but there was no real annoyance behind the response. Hadn’t been, for a while. Despite the awkward introductions, Nine was the sort of a guy River found herself falling into easy company with – not that she’d ever admit it out loud. Oh, no. They got along well-enough, but now there was this prickly presumption in the air that they didn’t like each other. Expectations and whatnot. So it had become a thing between them, jesting and ribbing each other at every opportunity they could. Good natured, but she could tell it was driving the Doctor and Jack mad. Perhaps that was why Nine and River took such amusement in it? She had the feeling that deep down, underneath the tough exterior, Nine had a wicked sense of humor just like hers.   
  
“It’s such a funny thing you’re playing with,” Nine said suddenly, turning to her. “This entire vendetta you have going on with Kovorian.”  
  
River responded, “Would you do any different if it was your daughter at stake?”  
  
For a split second, she thought she saw something dark flash across his face – but it passed quicker than a blink. “Naw, you’re probably right,” he said blithely. “I just don’t reckon there are many people that would think like us and actually follow through. Does the Doctor know you plan on killing Kovorian in cold blood? Because he might have a thing or two to protest about it.”   
  
He said it all lightly, as if they were talking about weather that was far more pleasant than the one outside their window. The sudden tension in the air stiffened, and River sat up slowly. He was right, of course. The quiet promise that she’d made to herself to execute Kovorian if she ever got the chance was one she’d never told anyone, especially the Doctor. It was one of the remaining secrets she kept bound behind her teeth from him. The Doctor may have been inclined to treat Kovorian like the devil himself, but Nine was right. What River sought was not a justice. It was vengeance, pure and simple. She’d murder Kovorian in cold blood, and that was something she knew the Doctor would disapprove of, even after everything. It just wasn’t  _him_.  
  
After a pause, River found herself saying, “You think he’ll leave me over it? When I finally do it?” She looked away, admitting in a strained voice, “I suspect he will.”  
  
“He won’t,” Nine refuted knowingly.   
  
He said it with such conviction. River found herself turning back to study his profile, and she knew quite a bit about double-oh agents, given that she’d fallen for two of them, but there was something about Nine that was different. John and the Doctor were the sort of men you’d never suspect of being capable of so much destruction, not unless you knew them well – but Nine… with Nine, it was all on the surface. He had these moments where she thought even a blind man could see that he’d been through hell and had committed atrocities in the name of Queen and country. It had marked him.  
  
“You’re nothing at all like John or the Doctor,” she said to him.   
  
“Neither are you,” he responded. “We’re alike, you and I.”  
  
For a beat, River wasn’t sure how to respond to that, or how he even fathomed to know her so well after only two day’s acquaintance. Finally, she asked, “Why do you think that?”  
  
“You really don’t want to know the answer to that,” Nine said.  
  
River paused, intrigued. “I do.”  
  
Nine looked to her. “You sure? You won’t like what you hear.”  
  
River stared him down, now abruptly curious by what he thought could devastate her so much. Nine simply shook his head and raised an eyebrow, as if to say,  _your funeral, but don’t say I didn’t warn you._  “Look, you know as well as anybody that in this line of business, there are two types of people. Double-Oh-Ten and Eleven? They’re the first kind. They will commit violence, even bucketloads of it, but they do it because they think they’re serving some higher purpose, and in the end – right or wrong – they think they’re right to do it. It’s arrogant as hell, but I suspect you – a woman who’s loved one and loves another – you know that better than anyone.”  
  
River looked away briefly, and she couldn't deny it. “Go on.”  
  
“They’ll do what they think is right, but you?” Nine looked to her. “You and me? We’re the other type. We’ll do whatever we  _have_  to, even if we  _know_  it’s wrong.”   
  
A hard and unyielding silence followed that confession. She wanted to refute the wisdom of his words, to tell him he had her all wrong. That he didn’t have the first damn clue about who she was, or what she was capable of; he may have fit that description, but River Song wasn’t as low as that.  
  
But the words wouldn’t come out.  
  
“We’re that way,” Nine continued in a soft voice, “because both of us have lost children, and that makes a person capable of committing anything. Nothing can harden a heart like the loss of a child.”  
  
Her throat constricted, and Nine just stared ahead at the stormy clouds in front of him without meeting her eyes. The sudden grief clung off of him like bad cologne, and for a beat, her eyes stung at the thought of what he’d lost. She’d wondered about Nine’s story before, and had even questioned the Doctor about it, but the Doctor had only informed her that no one really knew much. River couldn’t fathom why he was admitting such painful details to  _her_ , but she could tell it was more than just empathy. More than just some strange form of bonding. There was a point to this entire discussion, and River had yet to figure it out.  
  
“He won’t leave you,” Nine said again. “But you’re the type that won’t change, won’t stop. You can’t, because we don’t change, people like you and me. We don’t recover from that darkness. It clings to us. It stains our souls.” He paused, and slanted her a look. “But the Doctor won’t leave you.”  
  
“You sound so sure,” River said breathlessly.  
  
“I did the same thing, once upon a time. I thought I could change for the woman that I loved, that I could recover from that darkness. Turns out, though, I just changed  _her._  I made her into something like me. That’s when I realized what I had to do – what I  _did_. I walked away from her.”  
  
River’s throat constricted.   
  
“He won’t leave you,” Nine added knowingly, “Because you’re going to leave  _him._ ”  
  
The irrefutable knowledge of that sunk into her chest, painful and tight. Nine dropped his gaze away, giving her a moment to war with herself over the thought. God, she wanted to deny it, every fiber of her being struggling against the weight of his words – but it stung with too much clarity and truth. Ugly, painful, heavy, she realized Nine was right. In the end, she had two choices. Both options involved killing Kovorian, but only one of them compromised the Doctor.   
  
“Time to go,” he said softly, almost apologetically. He looked contrite, as if suddenly he regretted telling her any of this. But, she supposed, he had warned her that she wouldn’t like what she’d hear. “River,” he spoke again. “We’re over the prison.”  
  
“Right,” she said, collecting herself.   
  
Slowly, she unstrapped herself from the seat and stood, gliding hands across the hull for support as the plane jerked left and right in turbulence. In the back, River braced herself with a firm hand and then punched the button that opened the bay doors. Two halves receded, and River stared out at the tumultuous sky. She stepped forward to the edge, then looked back once to find Nine watching her. He gave her thumbs up, but his face was drawn in concern.   
  
Without saying a thing, River turned to the open doors and then flung herself into the storm.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Right this way, sir.”   
  
The Doctor followed the man through the long colorless hallways of Stormcage. On either side of him, there were two heavily armed guards. Thankfully, they were dutifully escorting him toward the prisoners, just as he’d politely asked. Amazing what papers could get you – he’d forged some documents to show people exactly what he wanted others to see; in this case, he'd assumed the role of Her Majesty’s Secret Service, here to question the six conspirators. The cover would only last five minutes, maybe ten if they were lucky, before his confirmation back at HQ would fall through. Which meant they needed to move this show along quickly.   
  
“Wait,” another guard told him, halting the Doctor with a hand.   
  
He grabbed the Doctor’s badge and scrutinized it once more, then nodded at the first guard to begin padding the Doctor down. The Doctor endured the indignity, watching as the guard only found a pad of paper and a single fountain pen in the inner pocket of his tweed jacket. He was in top form tonight, wearing an outfit he hadn’t worn for some time now – blue bowtie, dark slacks, and his favorite tweed jacket. It had been too long.  
  
“Well,” the Doctor asked, with a smile. “If you’re satisfied that my pen isn’t a threat to national security, how about we get this show on the road?”  
  
The guard handed him back his pen and paper. The Doctor approached a heavy set of double-doors, and waited a beat as the security guards hit a few buttons and the locks were released.   
  
When the doors parted, the Doctor had to remind himself not to break out into a wide grin. On the other side of the door where six prisoners dressed in pristine white jumpers. Donna and Rose stood by the far wall, straightening as the Doctor came through the doors. Martha and Amy were sitting quietly at the long oblong table in the center, and the latter sucked in a harsh breath when she connected with the Doctor’s gaze – he saw grief there, as well as shock. Rory and Mickey had their backs braced against the wall at the far end, and their jaws dropped open slightly. They were all handcuffed and shackled, but each and every one of them noticeably tensed when they spotted the Doctor and he had to stop himself from making a big grand barking laugh.  
  
“Hello,” the Doctor beamed, giving a pleased smile at his audience. He turned to his guards with a frown. “That’ll be all. Please wait outside until I call for you.”  
  
The guards traded a look with each other, frowning. “Sir,” one of them began. “We’re not actually allowed to leave you alone with the prisoners—”  
  
“Nonsense,” he cut in, airily. “I have full authority to do whatever I please, and I need to talk to these prisoners  _privately_. That means you can’t be here. Now,” he waved his hands, gesturing away, “go on. You’ll be on the other side of that door. I’ll scream if I need you.”  
  
When the guards finally left, reluctantly, the Doctor turned around to a stunned and silent room. “You…” Amy began, rising. She circled around him, peering up at him with watery eyes. “You’re okay? How can you be okay?”  
  
“Hey,” he greeted back, realizing his misstep. “Of course I'm okay. I'm always okay! I'm the king of okay. Oh,” he frowned immediately. “That's a rubbish title.”  
  
The grief on her face made the reunion a little less giddy than he had anticipated, and she rushed into his arms with a firm hug that had his injuries flaring with pain, but the sudden guilt of making them all think he was dead these past few weeks kept him from verbalizing the grimace. The embrace was also a little awkward because Amy’s hands, like all the others, were bound together by pair of cuffs. They were an advanced sort of handcuffs, too – all high tech with a digital lock for release.  _Convenient of them, really,_  the Doctor thought.   
  
Donna stepped forward. “We thought you were dead, Doctor. Really dead. We found your car—”  
  
“Yes, yes, yes,” the Doctor waved away the topic with a flutter of his hands. “All well and good for another time, but right now we have to get going before the men with really big guns and a predisposition for shooting like Americans realize I’m not who I say I am. Now, for those of us with more cynical hearts, allow me to take this moment to demonstrate the wisdom of an age-old saying.” With a flourish, he pulled out what looked to be a writing utensil. “The pen is mightier than the sword.”  
  
He removed the top, twisted the body of the pen, and then engaged the sonic device hidden inside. One by one, the locks on everyone’s handcuffs released and dropped with a clang to the floor. Also, security cameras had just gone into a loop. The Doctor stood, giddy and proud.  
  
“Honestly,” Mickey said from the side, “who looks at a pen and thinks,  _this could be more sonic_?”  
  
“Oi,” the Doctor admonished. “Don’t diss the sonic! Now, quickly, I’ll call the guards in and you guys position yourselves to take them down. We have to make it to the far northeast corner of the prison in less than,” he glanced down at his watch, “blimey! We should really get moving! River will be  _waiting_.”  
  
“Oh, is River here?” Amy asked, perking up.   
  


* * *

  
  
Four hundred meters across the facility, River had her hands full – literally.   
  
After landing in the rough winds just at the outcropping courtyards of the prison, a fight with a pair of guards had immediately broken out. She’d been ambushed from behind as soon as she had made it near the prison walls, but thankfully they hadn’t had time to trigger any of the alarms. The storm, which had earlier been a menace, was now a boon as it served as excellent coverage against watchful eyes.   
  
River snagged a rope of chain-link metal from a nearby junk pile and wrapped the cord around her arm. Wielding the shackles as a weapon, she jerked the chain and struck one of her opponents in the face. She knocked the other guard out with a hard right cross, and then ducked an oncoming attack and rebounded with another jerk of her chain. River reached for the guards' guns that had been knocked free at her feet.   
  
She whirled around with her aim high, holding a heavy gun aloft in each arm. “Now,” she said smugly to the guards. “Take off your clothes.”  
  
Ten minutes later, she was dressed as a guard and walking down the abandoned corridor of the east wing. She knew the layout of this prison like the back of her hand, but as she turned a left, then a second right, she encountered an unexpected group of guards and had to duck into an abandoned room. The group was led by the Warden, a man that had hated River Song with enough passion to fuel a third world country. The last thing she needed was to be recognized, and even though her infamous hair was tied back and she was dressed in something similar to every other guard here, River knew the Warden would recognize her in an instant. She was the only prisoner in Stormcage’s history to ever break out.   
  
And now here she was,  _breaking in._    
  
Life was not without its surprises, even for her.  
  
When the group cleared, she glanced at her watch and hoped all had gone according to plan on the Doctor’s end. She took the fastest route to the northeast quadrant and then reached for the first of the explosive devices in her bag. She pressed the adhesive side against the wall and pre-set the digital timer in the center of the explosive for fifteen seconds. Then she knocked loudly against the wall, a consecutive four-beat knock, and waited.   
  
The Doctor answered her knock with four beats back, and River smiled. She engaged the timer, stepped back and took cover around the corner wall, and fifteen seconds later an explosion rocked the facility as plaster, brick wall and debris went flying everywhere. A few seconds passed, and River emerged from the corner to find a group of familiar faces led by the Doctor coming out from the gaping hole in the wall. She saw the Doctor had a fire extinguisher in his hands and was spraying foam on the flames.  
  
“You’re not late for once,” River called out with a grin. “Color me shocked.”  
  
“Everyone, you remember River Song?” the Doctor said to the others, without ever taking his eyes off River. “Nice hair, clever, has her own gun. Oh, and unlike me she really doesn't mind shooting people. I shouldn't like that, kinda do a bit.”  
  
“Thank you, sweetie.”  
  
“I know you're all capable agents and everything, but you’re seeing something special right now. River Song, in  _action._ ”  
  
“Oh, sweetie, stop it.”  
  
“Make me,” he leered.   
  
“Yeah?” she tossed back, with a grin. “Well, maybe I will.”   
  
Amy rolled her eyes. “Is this really important, flirting? Because I think escaping from prison should be higher on the list of priorities right now!”   
  
 _Oh. Right._  
  
They both straightened, just as the alarms began to blare.  
  
Three minutes and another explosion later, River led the group to the outer wall as the facility belatedly began lockdown protocol. She cut the chainlink fence with her wire-cutters, and then ushered each and every one of the Doctor’s friends through the gaping whole. The Doctor led the way, searching the roadside for Jack’s accommodating truck, but Amy and Rory were right behind him; Martha, Rose and Mickey all flashed her big grins as they passed the gates, but Donna paused.   
  
“Was this your idea?” Donna asked, while the searching beam of floodlights made a wide arc around the courtyard.  
  
“Yes, yes,” River returned impatiently, and then urged Donna through the hole. She had a brief pause to recognize the look of suspicion on Donna’s face, but she didn’t have time to focus on it. She followed Donna and found the group already loading into a large black van, with Jack at the driver’s seat.  
  
“All aboard!” he said with some urgency.   
  
They all climbed in, and River turned back to look out through the windows as Jack floored the getaway – and silently, River bid her farewell to Stormcage by blowing it a parting kiss.  
  
This time, she never planned on coming back.  
  


* * *

  
  
The Doctor instructed Jack to take the fastest route towards sea, which was about a hundred kilometers east of them. They managed to get ahead of the search parties and switched vans in between, and by the time they reached the harbor, Nine was already waiting for them with the boat running. The Doctor gleefully led the charge up the docks, excited to show everyone around the newest accommodations that he had picked out for them. Likely months would be spent on the run, and what was better than international waters?  
  
The ocean stretched out across the horizon, and while at the moment it was too dark to see, the Doctor knew in the right light there were half a dozen shades of blue water shimmering out, from baby to cerulean to teal to navy. The ocean had always been one of his favorite places in the world – not the beach, but the  _ocean_. Such mysterious terrain, ripe for exploration. To the Doctor, there was beauty in that which he could not properly put into words.  
  
“Doctor,” Donna called out, from behind. “Please tell me you’re not leading us towards that smelly boat at the end?”  
  
The Doctor refused to dignify that with a response.   
  
Though, admittedly, the boat docked at the end didn’t look like much: old, rusty, and the paint had perhaps been bright and rich at one point in time, but now had clearly suffered years of neglect and abuse into a faded pale blue. The side of the boat held the name written in cursive yellow, and it was an odd sort of name too. Appropriate, given the odd ship. She had come from a fleet of commercial fishing vessels, and this one in particular was a trawler boat. Deceptively large and high powered, with the bridge and accommodations placed forward near the working deck. The Doctor had fallen in love with the ship at first blush. He couldn’t tell you why, exactly, but something about her  _sparkled._  He’d bought the ship years ago, and had spent the intermediate years upgrading the vessel, but this was the first time he’d had use of her.   
  
“Welcome aboard the TARDIS,” he announced with a smug grin. "We'll be here for the next few months."  
  
"Doing what?" Rory asked, wearily.  
  
The Doctor's smile dimmed, turning serious. He looked across to every single one of them: his friends, his mentor, his boss, his fellow agents, his lover - all of them, as good as family. There was only one thing left for them to do, the only thing they could.   
  
"Prepare for war," he declared.


	15. Chapter 15

“The Coronation is in exactly three months,” the Doctor declared, easily making his way to the middle of the crowd. “That gives us ninety days to figure out a gameplan that will prevent every child in Great Britain from being brainwashed by the Silence.”   
  
“There’s no way to disrupt the signal?” Martha asked.   
  
The Doctor shook his head. “The device is scarily effective. I’ve gone over the blueprints for months now. The only way to counteract the brainwashing effects is to use a similar device to  _undo_  the damage. John Smith had started building that device years back, and we could probably complete it in time. Problem is, we’d need every affected child to sit through the deprogramming. The Silence are using the Coronation as their seeding point, so we’d need something equivalent to that in scope and grandeur to deliver the deprogramming.”   
  
“And even then, there’s no guarantee that we’d hit every child affected,” River acknowledged. “Which means our best bet is to stop the brainwashing from happening in the first place.”    
  
Donna was settled on the corner booth, arms folded against her chest, watching River with, from the looks of it, something along the lines of wariness. The Doctor knew Donna had never particularly trusted River. It was always one thing or another: she was a wanted felon; she had mysterious ties to not only Silence but also to double-oh-ten; she’d left the Doctor in a rather obsessive state for eight months, and then, suddenly, he’d been presumed dead. All of it centered around a woman that was a self-professed liar. Donna had her reasons for distrusting, but he hoped that these close quarters would resolve any of her issues.    
  
Donna eventually added, “We also need to bring Kovorian to justice for what she’s done to the monarch.”   
  
“One problem at a time,” the Doctor said. “We’ll clear your name—”   
  
“I’m not worried about my bloody  _name_ !” Donna countered in an insulted bellow. “Forget about me. That woman killed the Queen. We can’t let her get away with that.”   
  
The Doctor stayed silent for a moment, standing between the two tall figures of Nine and River. It was true. While the Doctor had been focused on preventing future fallout, someone had to be thinking about mitigating the damage already done. Behind him, he heard Mickey exhale roughly in agreement, and it looked like Rory concurred with the sentiment. The Queen had been a beloved figure to millions – her death had galvanized the country into turning militaristic under martial law, and the so-called MI6 conspiracy to assassinate her had also damaged a lot of the nation’s psyche. Someone had to account for that.   
  
“No,” Martha suddenly spoke up, breaking the silence. “We have to make priorities. The first should be the children. There should be no question about that. All others fall second. A distant second.”   
  
It was an unsurprising sentiment coming from a new mother, and the Doctor already knew that River agreed. Since no one spoke up to argue the point, the Doctor considered it a starting point, at least.   
  
Across the room, in the corner, Jack was sitting on the arm of one of the corner cushioned chairs, one booted foot set up on the table in front of him and the other foot planted on the leather. “We could steal the Crown Jewels again? Take out the device, and that’ll—”   
  
“Already looked into that,” River cut in. “The security has been tripled, but the major problem is that I’m sure the government has planted decoys now. Even if we stole the crown jewels, I’m not sure we’d be stealing the real ones.”   
  
“How about warning the authorities?” Rory tried. “There’s got to be a way to—”   
  
“The Silence have infiltrated every division of every government agency,” Rose countered. “We could try, but I doubt we’d get anything accomplished.”   
  
“Plus,” Amy added wryly. “I don’t think anyone would believe this brainwashing stuff in the first place. Seems too farfetched, like someone was watching too much sci-fi.”   
  
“Science fiction or not,” Mickey argued. “There’s got to be someone that will listen to this.”   
  
“To the conspirators that killed the Queen?” Nine countered. “I wouldn’t go holding my breath.”   
  
The group went silent again.    
  
The Doctor looked up. “We’ve got ninety days, and enough brainpower in this room to power a small country. We’ve got no choice but to figure it out.”   
  


* * *

  


_Day One_

Martha was never one to sit and brood, but it seemed like the opportunity was too fitting to pass up. 

It took them three hours to reach the full open seas, and the Doctor seemed unconcerned in the quickly fading night about anyone following them. From the outside, the ship didn’t look like much but the Doctor had outdone himself yet again.  _People see what they expect,_  she remembered him telling her once. On the outside, it looked rather unremarkable. On the inside, however, the TARDIS was altogether gorgeous – large and roomy, full of a clean and crisp look, a perfect mix of luxury and utility. There was plenty of space for everyone, and the night had quickly settled with Nine at the helms and everyone else adjusting to their sea legs. 

Martha had separated from the others early on, very quietly. She’d found one of the spare rooms that the Doctor had apparently converted into a library. She sat with her knees drawn up against her chest as she stared vacantly out at the expanse of the ocean through the port window. She already liked this spot, particularly. The light was good; the design of the window and how the diffused white moonlight shone through the pane glass made the spot warm and inviting. The cushioned bench also felt comfy and well-used, where a person could read a book and perhaps brood about their respective problems. She had plenty of those. Drinking in the dark was a sad bastard activity, and she knew the Doctor would never partake in the task, but as Martha pulled free the picture of her baby boy – the sole personal possession she’d managed to smuggle and keep since being arrested – she wondered if he hadn’t stashed any liquor anywhere for his guests. 

The picture of her son, Ricky, had been bent and creased, and she was so lost in staring at it, the feel of homesickness and loss deep in her chest, that she never noticed Rose’s approach. 

“God, he’s cute enough to eat,” Rose announced, and took the seat next to her.

Martha smiled up at her. “He’s three months old,” she said with motherly pride. “I’m still not over how adorable he is.” 

“I suspect that’s something that’s not going to go away.” Rose paused. “Everybody’s looking for you. Especially Mickey.”

Martha looked down at the picture, heart aching, and said very quietly, “He’s with my mum now. My baby is with my mum.”

“Good hands, at least?” Rose offered.

Martha laughed. “Mickey would tell you that you don’t know my mother very well, but he’s shared with me the stories of Jackie, so I think you’ll understand when I say I love my mom but—”

“You don’t particularly want her raising your kids,” Rose cut in, in a knowing tone. “Oh,  _yes_ , I get that.” She paused, then offered a dim smile. “I’m sure when this is over, you can return to him safely. He’ll be alright in the meantime.”

Martha was silent for a long moment, a very long moment. She knew just as well as anyone on this boat that the day they could return to their lives would perhaps never come. They were wanted fugitives – the  _most_ wanted fugitives in perhaps all of western civilization. They’d be hunted down everywhere they went, so it was a good thing that the Doctor had chosen the middle of the Atlantic Ocean as their hideout. Still, Martha felt her eyes prickle at the thought of going any number of days without seeing Ricky. It wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was. 

Eventually, she cleared her throat and refocused. “Y’know, we named his middle name after double-oh-ten?” Rose looked up in surprise. “Yep,” Martha continued. “It’s John.”

“Wait,” Rose blinked. “With Mickey’s last name, doesn’t that make him Ricky  _John Smith_ ?”

Martha shared a smile with her. “Ricky John Jones-Smith.”

“Blimey,” Rose laughed. “Trying saying that five times fast.”

“I think he would have like that, yeah? Having a kid named after him.”

“Are you kidding me? John would have gotten such a swell head over that, and he didn’t need much help with that to begin with.”

“Typical,” Mickey announced, suddenly, appearing in the doorway. “My ex-girlfriend and my wife are having a hushed conversation in the corner of the room, and what’s it about?  _Double-oh-ten._  A man can’t win, sometimes.”

“Oh, hush you,” Martha admonished with a smile. 

Mickey approached the women with long strides, and then dropped a kiss onto Martha’s forehead. “I had to fight Rory for one of the bedrooms, and we had a manly duel over a game of rock-paper-scissors to see who’d end up the chump sharing a bunkbed with his wife. You’ll be pleased to hear I won the round.”

Martha nodded her approval. “I knew you could take him, Mickey.”

Rose was watching them intently with a look of naked curiosity, like they were a pair of new species at some zoo. Martha sympathized a bit; she couldn’t imagine what’d it’d be like to see your ex-boyfriend with a wife and a child, but it was an odd feeling to be on this side of equation. 

“Well,” Rose said, snapping her gaze away when she realized she’d been caught staring. “I guess I better go pick out a room for myself first, before I get shafted with something unpleasant.”

Rose left shortly thereafter, and Mickey took the vacant seat while Martha snuggled up against him. The picture of Ricky was still in her hands, and for a quiet beat, Martha just stared. 

“We’ll get him back,” Mickey said to her. “I promise you that.”

In response, Martha just cuddled closer and closed her eyes.

* * *

  
_Day Five_

River heard the shouting long before she entered the room. “No, no, no!” The Doctor flushed, lobbing additional obscenities at the computer. “That isn’t what I wanted you to do—”

“Yelling at it isn’t going to work,” Mickey argued, tiredly, a bit cross. “But, please, don’t let that stop you.”

“What’s going on?” River asked, coming up behind the two gentlemen.

Mickey turned around with a glowering expression, throwing her a beseeching look. “He’s all yours,” he bit out. “I’ll be back when he’s turned sane again.”

He left before River could question him. “Sweetie,” River tried, approaching the Doctor slowly. He ran a hand wildly throw his hair, and then hit the side of the computer monitor in frustration, as if that would make it more compliant. “Maybe you should take a break and come back to this—”

He waved a pointed finger at her. “What I need to do is  _fix_  this code. It should have been working by now. John completed at least 75% of the deprogramming code and I am going to take it the last quarter if it’s the last bloody thing I accomplish on this planet – and you, River Song, need to stop  _distracting_  me.”

“Me?” River blinked. “How am I distracting you?”

“You’re in the same room, aren’t you? Go! I need to  _concentrate_ , and I can’t do that with people in the same room,  _breathing_  and whatnot. Especially with your hair!”

River stared at him. Don’t get her wrong, she loved the fool, but sometimes— “What exactly is the problem? Maybe I can help.”

The Doctor sighed, reining in his frustration with force as he whirled around to the computer. “See this code here? It’s the line that John extracted from the brainwashing device. All of the Silence members have been subjected to a process that makes them immune to the brainwashing signal because, essentially, they’ve had conditioning that makes them unsusceptible to that specific range. It’s like radio frequencies.”

She’d read the files a thousand files over by now. All the Silence members and their children had been given this conditioning, so that they could remain immune while the rest of the world suffered when that signal went live on the day of the Coronation.

“Their brains have been altered enough that they aren’t affected like the rest of us,” River summarized. 

“Exactly. They don’t pick up the same channels we do.” The Doctor continued, typing a few keystrokes. “What I’m trying to do is extract that bit and reverse engineer the code. Unfortunately, the line is turning out… wibbly-wobbily.”

She pressed a hand to his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.  _We’ll_  figure it out together.”

He sighed. “Fine. Pull up a chair and get comfy. We might be here a while.”

* * *

  
_Day Fourteen_

“We need to talk.”

River blinked, looking to the side to find Donna with a rather uncomfortable expression on her face. “Well,” River recovered. “This sounds ominous.”

“Somewhere private,” Donna added, which only increased the sense of foreboding. “You know, just us girls.”

Suppressing a frown, River rose and then followed Donna out into the narrow hallways. The ship was rather large, but they’d been on here long enough that River honestly felt like she could wander this place blindfolded. The Doctor was right. There was something…special about this ship. River couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but the hallways felt familiar, the rooms inviting – the entire place beckoned to her like she was coming home. She’d never been out at sea much, but to her pleasant surprise, she found she enjoyed it a great deal. Maybe in another life, she’d been a sailor?

Donna pulled River into her own chambers, a small room that was modest, but pretty. There were a few personal belongings strewn about the place, and on the bedside table, River watched as Donna reached for a deep blue journal. “This was John’s,” Donna announced, surprising River. “We found it among his personal belongings the day after he died. It contained mentions of one or two national secrets, so we had to confiscate it and keep it locked away all these years.” She paused, then held it out to River unceremoniously. “You should have it.”

River stared at the journal, then reached forward and took the book carefully. “You’ve read it?”

“A little,” Donna admitted, sheepishly. “I guess I owe you an apology? I didn't read it until recently, when I found myself with more time on my hands than I knew what to do with. This place drives me  _bonkers_ , especially at night. I guess I should be sorry, but to tell you the truth, I think I  _needed_  to read it.”

“Why?” 

“Because I needed to  _figure you out,_ ” Donna announced, exasperated, letting out a lengthy exhale. “You’re one big giant bloody mystery, you know that? I mean, I get the appeal. You’re the embodiment of every man’s teenage fantasy of a femme fatale. But I… I guess I’m protective of my boys. First, John – now, the Doctor. And I couldn’t seem to put my finger on you.”

River had been feeling a cold front from Donna since the beginning, truth to tell. River had never pressed the issue because she knew, deep down, that Donna’s reservations were likely justified. River Song wasn’t the sort of girl you brought home to mother – even if in this particular case, mother turned out to be the mum of MI6. 

River glanced down at the journal, wondering what was written inside that had Donna acting differently all of sudden, more friendly and even a bit contrite. “And?” River prodded. “What did you learn?”

“Your taste in men is terrifying,” she deadpanned, causing River to laugh. “No, but honestly, I just… I didn’t get it before. John never told me about you, and me and him… we were close. Best friends, even. He didn’t mention you at all, and do you have any idea how infuriating that is? I guess… I guess I was hurt by that, and I was taking it out on you.”

“He would’ve told you,” River found herself saying, almost immediately. “John loved you and had nothing but respect for you, but some things between us… we couldn’t tell anyone. Only Jack knew, and Rose. Both found out by accident or through spying.”

Donna paused, eyes falling to the blue journal. “He loved you. A great deal. More than that, he came to trust you completely. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.”

River paused, smiling at her quietly, before she found herself raising an eyebrow in alarm. “Ah, he didn’t happen to mention anything about…  _handcuffs_ , did he?” 

Donna blushed bright red, and turned away. “What? No, of course not.”

It was an outright lie.

River decided to let everyone pretend to believe it, for sanity’s sake.

* * *

  
_Day Thirty_

"I understand your position," Rory said smoothly, careful to keep his tone polite and unaffected, if not a little dumbfounded. "But a raid on the Coronation? That might…" he paused, because the person he was arguing with was double-oh-nine, and you didn’t go up against that guy without at least remembering his epic history of killing all his enemies. Even if he seemed like a decent sort of fellow. "What’s the word I’m looking for? Oh, yes. Be  _insane_ .” 

Nine grinned. “Insanity is heavily underrated in strategic warfare.”

Rory stared at him, struck by similarities between him and the Doctor. It really did show that Nine was the Doctor’s mentor – they had the same sense of whimsy, the same sense of ingenuity and charm. (Though, it was clear their fashion sense clashed like the titans.) “No, hang on. There’s  _ten_  of us,” Rory argued. “The Coronation will be the most heavily secured event of the century. And what do you suppose we do? Just raid the Coronation and take out the new King before he’s crowned?”

Nine nodded along like he missed the bit where this was all  _insane_ . “We’ve already labeled that Plan B. Now we just have to figure out how to do it.”

“I really don’t think that should be Plan B. I think it should probably come after Plans C through Z. In fact, maybe when we hit double letters with a combination of lower capital roman letters?  _Plan BBii_ , that sounds about right.”

In response, Nine just dropped a thick package of blue folders on the table, spilling loose the papers inside. Rory poked through the pile, realizing they were security information regarding the protection detail of the new King. They were beyond classified, and for a moment, Rory wanted to ask where Nine had gotten them, but then thought better of it.

“We’re going to have to learn their protocol,” Nine announced. “Amy tells me you’re good with disguises.”

Rory tried not to puff his chest out with pride, but it was something of a specialty. “I manage all right.”

“You’re going to have to study the King’s protection detail. We may need you to impersonate one of them when the time comes.”

Rory frowned. “Breaching their security is not going to be that easy.”

Nine grinned. “Wouldn’t be any fun if it was.”

* * *

  
_Day Forty-five_

"Jack Harkness," the snobby black-market dealer opposite him drawled, glancing briefly towards the door, "I’m afraid you are not in a position to make demands. Now," he said, standing up and carelessly dropping his napkin onto the table, "you will please stand,"-- a strong hand wrapped around his forearm, pulling Jack to his feet-- "and I will have you delivered to the Silence where apparently there is a giant price on your head.”

Jack made a frown. “Look, all I asked for was some supplies. If you can’t deliver, I’ll just leave.”

“No, Mr. Harkness," the man continued, indulgent as Jack made to move, "you will be accompanying us," he said. “Sincere apologies.”

“You know whose not the forgiving type?” Jack drawled. “Red-heads. Something about the ginger in them, god only knows what – but I find they’re the most unforgiving type.”

The smarmy man stared, coolly. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s talking about  _me_ ,” Amy announced, from the corner of the room. She stepped into the light, carrying a heavy sidearm and an empty briefcase. “And since you turned down negotiations so messily, I’m really going to have to insist that I take these supplies off your hands, free of charge.”

The arms-dealer paused, then barked a laugh. “You, little lady? You and who else?” Then he felt the implacable shove of a gun against his ribs, and Jack smiled at Donna over his shoulder. “Oh.”

Jack smirked. “See what I mean? Feisty gingers. God love ‘em.”

“Women,” the guy said, snarling. “Your backup is two women?”

“My, we’ve got a thick one here, don’t we?” Donna mused. “It’s bad enough that I’ve got to start strapping metal to my thighs and wear high heels again – seriously, there are things about working in the field that I do _not_  miss – but if I have to deal with your chauvinistic opinions too, I might just go certifiable.”

“See, that would be justified homicide,” Amy offered with a nod, circling around the other armed men and freeing them of their weapons. “And plus, it’s that time of the month for me and wouldn’t it be ironic if we both just went bonkers with PMS-related rage and gunned down the lot of them?”

“Terribly ironic,” Donna agreed. 

Jack mused, “I thought I picked up on an upswing with all the women craving chocolate this week.”

“Don’t you start,” Donna warned. 

* * *

  
_Day Fifty-six_

The Doctor frowned. Playing five-card draw with the group wasn’t going as well for him as he’d been hoping, but at least they weren’t playing strip-poker as River had suggested. Still, there was a distinct lopsided disadvantage to the table. Poker was never a team sport, but he had the inkling that the women of the group had decided to team up and  _make_  it a sport.

“It certainly is hot in here,” Amy said, popping open a button on her blouse. “I sure could use some ice-chips to cool off.”

“Rory?” Mickey prodded. “Rory, you in, man?” he tried again.

Rory shook himself from his trance. “Wha… Uh, ah… Yeah, I fold.”

The Doctor looked on with thinly veiled amusement. Rory was always so easily distracted by Amy that it was a little shameless. Almost, but really, the only thing that could be described as shameless at the table were the  _women_ , each of which were proving a hefty distraction in their own ways. The Doctor wondered if it was intentional or just in their nature.

“What’s a full house again?” Donna asked loudly in Nine’s direction, leaning over his shoulder and pointing to the cards in his hand. “That it?”

“No,” he responded absently before catching himself, then flushed red and narrowed his eyes at her. “And stop that! Just because you folded in this round doesn’t mean you can go about looking at another man’s cards.”

“Oi,” Donna said, rolling her eyes. “No need to be  _rude_ .”

“I fold,” Rose announced, after taking a long look at her cards.

Mickey grinned. “It’s all right, Rose. Not everyone can handle this much heat.”

Martha lifted an eyebrow. “What heat are you bringing? You’ve lost half your pot already.”

“It’s a strategy. I come in from behind.”

“There’s a crude joke in that,” Jack said absently, “But I’ll refrain this once.”

An hour later, it came down to a hand between the Doctor and River. He eyed her across the table, unable to tell if she was bluffing or not because god only knew the woman had enough experience keeping secrets. 

“C’mon,” Amy urged impatiently. “The suspense is killing me. Someone call already.”

But it was River’s turn. “It’s a shame I can’t raise much,” she drawled, a note of cheer in her tone. “You seem to be almost out of chips, my love. And as much as I love taking your money, what do you say we sweeten the deal a little?”

The Doctor stared, suddenly suspicious of her, half-afraid she’d proposition him in front of everyone, and half-hoping she’d do just that. He was beginning to feel like a schoolboy the number of times he’d been caught in some sort of intimate position with her these last few weeks. He used to hate public displays of affection too; now he couldn’t stop. It was slightly embarrassing for a man his age, but then again the Doctor never acted his age in the first place, not if he could help it.

“Oh, no,” Donna said, raising a hand in protest. “Whatever kinky thing you two are thinking, stop it right this instant. We’re just going to stick to money and chips. Anything else is  _off_  the table.”

The Doctor pouted, and then disgruntled, said. “It doesn’t matter anyway. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you all were  _cheating_ .”

River gasped in false offense. “Cheating? Sweetie, I don’t need to cheat when it’s far easier to just whip you into shape the old fashion way.”

“Again,” Jack announced. “Watch me refrain from making the obvious—”

Everybody at the table groaned. 

* * *

  
_Day Sixty-three_

River watched from the far corner as Rose cleared the table, laughing at something Nine said to her in passing. River had spent long enough in the company of everyone aboard the TARDIS to get a handle on how certain dynamics worked, but it was always the byplay between Rose and Nine that interested her the most. River hadn’t forgotten the conversation she’d had with Nine at thirty thousand feet above ground level.  _I thought I could change for the woman that I loved, that I could recover from that darkness. Turns out, though, I just changed her. I made her into something like me. That’s when I realized what I had to do – what I did. I walked away from her._  Every since then, she’d been watching Nine with Rose, and a part of her had been growing more and more certain that she knew exactly who Nine had been talking about.

It fit. Long before Rose had been partnered with John, River had learned she’d spent several years on missions with Nine. The easy banter and companionship between the two was obvious, but unlike his other interactions with the rest of the agents onboard, there was something different about the way Nine acted around Rose. 

River decided it was finally time to voice the observation. She waited until Rose left with the dishes for the galley area, and then tipped Nine a raised eyebrow that drew him to her out of sheer curiosity. “What?” he asked.

“Does she know?” River asked, easily. 

“Know what?”

River just stared at him, the naked truth of her question all too apparent to a man as perceptive as Nine. He flushed, then glared at her, some genuine anger in his face. “Stop it,” he told her.

He left, but she followed him, undaunted by the looming discomfort that would have had most others turning away. “You once gave me a piece of advice, remember? One I didn’t even ask for and, quite frankly, didn’t want to hear.”

Nine kept silent, and River looked down the hall to see Rose talking animatedly with Donna in the galley, so she kept her mouth shut and smiled pleasantly as they passed the two women. Beside her, Nine quickened his pace but River met it stride for stride. She felt she owed him that for some reason; odd, given his parting advice to her from that one unforgettable conversation months back had been along the lines of, “ _you’re going to leave the Doctor, River Song. Might as well accept it._ ” River chose to deny the wisdom behind that sentiment, even if it had shaken her to her core. 

“You’re wrong, you know?” River said, when they’d cleared enough distance to resume a private conversation. “We don’t have to damage the ones we love.”

“River,” Nine said, turning around. “Maybe I was wrong to tell you I said to you that day, but don’t think you can goad me into admitting I was wrong about  _myself_ . Don’t presume to know me that well.”

“You presumed the same with me,” River countered, a bit heatedly. “And the reason your words stung so much was because it hit a nerve. And that’s why you’re so prickly right now. Because you don’t want me planting ideas and thoughts into  _your_  head. Well, too bad. Because that woman out there? Rose Tyler – she isn’t the rookie you took under your wing all those years ago. She’s stronger than you think, and you  _didn’t_ corrupt her.”

“I didn’t help her either,” Nine countered in a hiss, before he could stop himself. Then a second later pressed his lips together and whirled about, annoyed with himself that he’d given that much away. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“Oh, yes, we are,” River challenged, circling about and then stepping to block his path. They did this two-step dance where Nine tried to bypass her, but the hallways were too narrow on the TARDIS, and River jet her chin out stubbornly. “You’re afraid of hurting her, but the girl has already been hurt. You’re not protecting her. You’re  _hiding_ , and you’re not the coward type, darling. Not even remotely.”

The impassioned plea was truthful, but more than a little self-serving. Because if River could prove to Nine that he was wrong about himself, then it would do well to lessen that tiny whisper in the back of River’s head. The one that told her Nine was right, that she was going to leave the Doctor. It was a spiteful little voice, tiny and nagging. River could think of no better way to silence it than by bringing Nine and Rose together.

“Does Rose know?” River asked him again. “How you feel about her?”

Nine only stared, gaze drifting back down the hallway where they could both hear the faint laughter of Rose and Donna. 

River didn’t know Rose well enough to say, but she suspected that the younger woman wasn’t as oblivious to Nine’s feelings as she played. But after John, maybe Rose wasn’t as open to the idea of loving as she once would have been? River could sympathize. It took River years to pick up the pieces of her broken heart and try again with the Doctor, and even she doubted it would have happened if the Doctor hadn’t forced her to confront her feelings for him head-on. Nine was choosing, instead, to play things close to the chest. If he continued that, River had the feeling this little charade of longing could continue on for another few years – and god, who could suffer through watching that? 

Besides, everyone deserved the second chance at happiness that River had found with the Doctor.

“Try,” River offered to Nine, softly. “You might just surprise yourself.”

* * *

  
_Day Seventy-one_

“You know,” the Doctor said, sweat-soaked and loose, landing next to River as she stretched out naked across the mattress. “I think we were quieter that time.”

He repositioned himself, throwing an arm around her stomach and pressing his head into her abdomen so that he could breathe in the smell of River and sex, approving whole-heartedly of the combination. She ran her hands over his back in a way that sent prickles all up and down his spine, and despite the fact that they’d already had sex twice in the last few hours, he was still sensitive enough to luxuriate in the sensation. 

He never thought he’d be here, strangely content even in the middle of their crisis, because his friends were all within shouting distance (unfortunately for them, during certain moments), and River was wrapped around him. It didn’t feel like the end of the world at all. 

“River?”

River made a noise to indicate something – he wasn’t sure what – but he liked to think it was because he’d just blown her mind in such a way that words and cognitive thinking were things beyond recall.

"You have a very smug expression on your face just now, my love," River informed him, suddenly. "From this I deduce that you’ve thought something highly illogical."

There was a sudden loud bang against the door. “Hey,” Amy called out, a bit tiredly from the other side of the wall. “As much as I love being Jane Goodall, you see, studying the mating habits of strange and complex species, I’d appreciate it if you  _kept it down._  For once.”

“River says she’s sorry!” the Doctor hollered back, earning himself a smack across the shoulders. 

“She wasn’t the one I was talking about!” Amy hollered back, before there was another disgruntled noise from the other side of the door and the sound of footsteps stomping away.

“Sweetie, we’re going to have to soundproof the walls sooner rather than later.”

“I upgraded this ship with enough firepower to take down a submarine, but I admit, I was not expecting this.”

“Good,” River mused, tussling his hair. “I like to think I was a surprise.”

“You, River Song, will never be anything as mundane as a foregone conclusion.”

She smiled. “Move for a bit,” River asked him, and then wiggled a little beneath him to get him to comply, and she could be trying to kill him, potentially, because he was getting hard again, and he was already exhausted. “C’mon, I need to stretch my legs.”

“Stretch ‘em in bed,” he protested, but she finally just jostled him off her, and he was whining, “ _River_ .”

River rolled her eyes and left the room, returning a few minutes later cleaned up a little, hair tied back in a sloppy ponytail and wearing his shirt again. He was going to have to get a drawer full of his shirts just for her to wear, because the woman had brilliant legs that showed off perfectly with what she was wearing. River reached out and retrieved her laptop from the corner table, which she unfolded and laid out on the mattress, sitting down again Indian-style so that the Doctor could spy the pink knickers she now had on. 

He glared at the laptop for its mere offense in existing. “What email is so urgent that you have to check up on it  _now_ ?”

“The same one that I use to communicate with the outside world,” River answered him. “It’s the only way I can keep in contact with some of my sources.”

“Any interesting news?”

“I’ll tell you if I find some,” River answered. “Now, get dressed. I’m in the mood for food and it’s your turn to run to the galley for a midnight snack. And no fish fingers and custard!”

* * *

_Day Eighty-nine_

Amy was making preparations to leave. The Coronation was less than two days away, and everybody had agreed. For the next twenty-four hours, they’d allow themselves the luxury of one last free day. Covertly visit family, go out to shore and do something fun and relaxing, mark an item off the bucket list – anything but think obsessively over the almost-certain suicide mission they had mapped out for the following day. 

Amy and Rory were going to visit family.

She knew the others had similar plans; Martha hadn’t stopped talking excitedly about seeing her baby boy for weeks now, and even Mickey had looked anxiously eager to get to land. Rose was planning on visiting her mother; Amy didn’t think many of the others had family to visit, though, so she wasn’t sure what they were planning on doing with their last day of freedom. 

“Oi, Rory!” Amy called out. “Where’d you put our fakes?”

“Bathroom!”

Oh, yeah. Amy walked to the bathroom and lifted the lid on the tank of the toilet. Inside, tangled up in the stopper chain, was a ziplock bag. She dumped its contents onto the bathroom sink and rummaged through to make sure she had everything. The small pouch contained a few thousand euros, a pre-paid cellphone with an international SIM card, a handful of pre-loaded credit cards, and four passports, two of which were hers and the other two Rory’s. 

“Ready?” Rory asked, coming in through the door.

“Looks like.”

A few minutes later, they were emerging out into the hallway when she ran into Jack, literally. “I’ve got a serious problem,” Jack announced, suddenly. Then turned around. “Which one of this jeans makes my ass look better? This is one look.”

Amy studied it unashamedly while her husband rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “Not bad,” she mused. “Not bad at all.”

“Yeah? I’m kinda going for more than just  _not bad_ . Hang on. I’ll try the other one.”

“No, wait—” Rory tried to cut in, then sighed warily when Jack cut back into his room to change. Amy elbowed him in the ribs and smiled up, and Rory rolled his eyes. “Ever get the feeling we’ve possibly spent too much time onboard with these people?”

“Makes life interesting,” Amy offered.

“I think after this, our life could stand to use some boredom.”

Jack reemerged before Amy could reply, and did a small turnabout. “Much better,” Amy approved. “This is the one.” Jack grinned, but around the edges she could tell there was some strain to it. He was nervous about something. “Who’re you going to see?” she asked curiously. Jack wasn’t the type to get nervous.

“Naw, just this… guy I was seeing,” Jack confided, trying to brush it off as a casual thing. “I basically dropped off the face of the Earth months back, so I’m not expecting a warm welcome.”

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Amy exclaimed excitedly, as he joined them as they made their way through the twisting hallways. “What’s he like?”

“Oh, you know. Mild-mannered and quiet administrator type.”

“Really?” Amy blinked. “Wouldn’t have expected that to be your type.”

Jack flashed a look towards Rory. “You’re one to talk.”

“Hey!” Rory protested. “I’m not—not mild mannered, am I?”

“If you were anymore mild,” Amy said, then reached up to kiss him on the cheek to soften the words, “you’d be comatose.”

Rory offered a sheepish shrug. They continued down the hallway until they reached the outer rooms. Amy looked out the windows and for the first time in weeks, saw land approaching. Excitement rushed through her veins. It had been far too long since she’d gotten out on the town, and a day with Rory and her family sounded marvelous – even if it was slightly overshadowed by the apprehension of the day upcoming. Amy wasn’t going to let that spoil her day today.

They joined the entire group up top, just as the Doctor docked the ship and made his way out. “Okay, now remember, disguises and aliases are your friend! Now off you go. Pick you back up here in twenty-four hours.”

“What about you?” Amy asked, while most of the others were already halfway off the boat in eagerness.

“River and I have plans, and Nine is staying behind to mind the ship. Don’t worry about us! Go! And try not to get Rory into too much trouble.”

Amy grinned. “You know me, Doctor,” she hollered over her shoulder, as Rory helped her off the boat by leading her by the hand. “Can’t promise you anything!”

* * *

River could hear the voices of the others outside as they parted ways, and the timber of the Doctor’s affectionate voice carried through the open window, but by the time she came out of her room, Nine was the only still left on deck.

“Where’s the Doctor?” she asked, blinking.

“He had to pick some stuff up,” Nine answered. “Don’t ask me what. It’s all a surprise, apparently. He’ll be back in an hour.”

It was rather adorable how the Doctor was making all these grand plans for a romantic day out, but River tried to suppress her excitement. It felt too awkward around Nine, who was the only one of them that hadn’t made plans for the day; despite River’s advice, he hadn’t done a thing about Rose, and she was starting to suspect that maybe he never would. Stupid, stubborn man. She knew so many of them, but it was clear Nine’s heartbreaking history was preventing him from moving forward. Now he was spending his last day of freedom alone.

She debated with herself about broaching the subject yet again, but before she could even open her mouth, there was a small sting at her neck, and River flinched. Blinking, she paused, and her hand fell to her chest and moved over her neck, inspecting. She touched metal, and then with shock, pulled a tranquilizer dart out of her neck.

“What—” she began, turning to Nine just in time to witness a similar dart hit him.

It was the last thing she saw before her knees buckled, and darkness overtook her.

* * *

"Think about this very carefully," Nine said smoothly, careful to keep his tone polite and unaffected. His head was still throbbing away from the tranquilizers, but River had yet to awaken and it was all on him to manage the situation for the moment. “I’m betting the orders you have are to keep us  _alive_ .”

“Keep  _her_  alive,” said the tall one in the back, the one Nine had already determined to be the leader. They wore black masks and had enough intel to find out exactly when and where the TARDIS was going to dock, but they were clearly uninformed about a lot because the next thing said was, “But you, Doctor, we don’t need at all.”

They thought he was the Doctor. 

Nine heard the quiet  _hish_  of metal being pulled against nylon behind him, and resolutely did not turn around.

The one thing working to their benefit was that it seemed their hostage takers were a group of amateurs. He’d already counted six different mistakes they’d committed since he’d awoke, and as soon as he slipped free from these ropes, he planned on taking advantage of them. 

"This is a contract-job, isn’t it?" Nine didn't know why, but that was the answer. "Yeah," he said with a grin, "you guys aren’t Silence members. You’re hired guns. Low hired guns, by the looks of it." One of the men shoved Nine roughly and then hit him in the stomach with a sick dull  _slice_ , enough force behind the blow to make pain spark up behind his eyes like flares. He never raised his voice or cried out in pain. After a few moments passed, Nine forced himself to struggle out, "What does the Silence want with River?” 

“Does it matter? We were hired by them to find her, and we did. You’re expendable.”

“See?” he offered back wryly, wheezing. “You’re validating my inherently low opinion of hired goons.”

There was something dripping beneath him, a soft-sounding wet  _plop_  onto the workshop's floor. When he looked down, he knew exactly what he’d find: blood was spreading out like a puddle across his shirt.

He’d been stabbed. Badly.

* * *

The next moment was damp and grey and painful for River, who awoke to an electrified headache that ran up and down her temples and slammed into the region behind her eyes. She didn't register much at first, except the pain and disorientation, and then the fact that she was bound tightly in a chair. Her eyes snapped open, finally, to discover she was tied up in some abandoned factory of sorts.

She heard a groan and looked over, then felt herself go numb with fear. Nine had his hands bound behind his back, but there was a dark pink stain of blood on his shirt, ugly and growing, and his head was bowed. 

“You all right?” she asked, even as she recognized the stupidity of the question. There was too much blood on the floor. How long had she been passed out? How much blood had he lost? Judging by the pallor of his face, she knew he’d been bleeding out for some time. She took a split-second to calm her jaded nerves. Nine was breathing determinedly through his nose, and some uncounted number of breaths later, he lifted his head and met her gaze. 

“I don’t have much time,” Nine told her, calmly.

River stared at him, then shook her head in stark refusal. “No, you’re fine. You’re going to be fine. I just—” She searched around the workshop, trying to figure out if there was anything she could use to escape. The thick rope chaffed at her wrists and she realized her metal chair was bolted to the floor, but she struggled against the winding cords and tried to wiggle herself out. “Hold on. I’ll get us out of here.”

“They don’t want me,” Nine returned, then grimaced. “Or should I say they don’t want the Doctor, which is who they think I am. Hence the ugly souvenir to my stomach. They’re only after you.”

“Yeah, well, let’s get out of here and then we can—”

“River, listen to me,” he said urgently. “Before I go, I just want to tell you one thing—”

“Shut up,” she hissed, aggressively. “Don’t you dare take that tone with me. Just let me work on my ropes for a second.”

For a long moment afterwards, she struggled with the rope, all the while attempting to reconcile herself with this new nightmare development, but the pit of her stomach had fallen away and all River felt was this sense of approaching doom. She could hear the voices of the others outside the room, and it sounded like four, maybe five men. 

River looked back again. Nine was wavering between a state of consciousness and oblivion. His burgundy jumper had been sullied black with blood, and River watched as drip by drip of blood splattered to create a mess on the cement floor. Desperation and a reckless fear overcame her. She couldn’t do anything. Struggling against her bound chair, trapped in this fucking factory, she couldn’t move, couldn’t call for help, couldn’t even help Nine herself even though he rested only a yard away. 

“You were right,” he continued in a faint voice. “Maybe we don’t have to damage the ones we love.”

“Of course you didn’t, darling.” 

It wasn’t right, this moment. Nine deserved better than this. He was a good man, one of the best she’d ever known, and his life had held too much tragedy to end like this. Infuriated, she struggled so hard against the ropes that she felt the sting of abrasions and the slippery lining of blood around her wrists. She kept at it, ignoring the pain and then gasped audibly when she felt one of the cords loosen. With intense concentration, River angled her hand, but she knew she couldn’t wiggle out without some pain, so she braced herself with a long breath, and then dislocated her thumb in one sharp jolt. Pain radiated up her hand, up her arm, and River stifled a scream and took another few deep breaths. Then she sucked in a victorious rush of air when one hand finally slipped free. With lightning speed, she pulled at the ring of ropes until it became undone, then freed herself from the chair. 

“You’re going to be fine,” she exclaimed as she rushed to his side. 

She was so focused on getting his ropes undone that she was caught off-guard when Nine slid off his chair and she had to catch him in her arms. Her injured left hand took the brunt weight, and River almost cried out as they landed in a pile on the floor. Whatever strength Nine had, it wasn’t enough for him to stand on his own feet. Pushing aside the flap of his jacket, she pressed her good hand against his wound and earned a deep grunt from Nine as she tried to stem the bleeding. Tried and  _failed_ . 

River wavered. She looked to the doors where the men kept guard, and then back down to the stomach wound. “If you could hold on for a few minutes,” she choked out in desperation. “Just for a few—”

“River,” Nine breathed out, and his tone said everything.

She felt her eyes prickle with unshed tears.

There was so much blood.

“Don’t be like me,” he said, “I lost so much, but I gave up even more. You were right. Don’t be like—” He hissed, eyes cracked only half-open, and  _damn it_ , he looked so different to the towering man she knew. She searched his face for signs of vitality, but suddenly all she could see was the blood pooling around his body and the way he held himself very still, very carefully still like any movement might hasten or agitate the injury. “Tell Rose something for me. Tell her…”

He trailed off because the blood loss was getting to him, and River had to gently prod, “Yes?”

“Tell Rose that, I… that I—”

And then Nine went unnaturally silent. His eyes went vacant and his head lulled against her. She went feverishly cold, feeling every second of stillness stretch out like eternity. Tears streamed down her face. She pressed shaky fingers to his neck in search of a pulse, and then squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away. Armed men suddenly circled around her; the guards had come back into the room to discover her free from her chair, but River was too numb to complete her escape. The seconds stretched long and silent. With a trembling hand, she reached forward and brushed his eyes closed. 

Her hands were covered in blood.

Nine had just died in her arms.


	16. Chapter 16

The Doctor was so very excited for the day.  
  
He gleefully paid for the supplies and hid a grin as he took the top hat from the storeowner. He'd been setting up the day’s romantic plans for some time now, keeping everything a surprise for River. Dinner and theatre, of course – who didn’t love a good show? But before that he had an entire day of events planned out, an outing that was sure to take River’s mind off the impending stresses of the Coronation. Suicide mission or not, the Doctor had no choice but to hope for the best and give himself and the others this one day of respite.   
  
Still, as much as he’d admonished the others from thinking too much about the following day, despite himself, the Doctor’s mind drifted to the Coronation once or twice as he walked down the pier. Well, it wasn’t as if he had been thinking of much else, lately. And when he wasn’t thinking of the Coronation, he was preoccupied by tweaking that deprogramming device that John Smith had started, the one that countered the Silence’s conditioning. The Doctor had finally reached a point where he felt confident enough that the code on the device would work. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure when, if ever, he’d use it.  
  
Their plans for the Coronation Day boiled down to the modest idea of prevention. Hard to execute, but simple enough in concept. They’d prevent the Silence from using their brainwashing machine by destroying the Crown Jewels. Which, in turn, would eliminate the necessity of a  _deprogramming_  device. It’d thwart the Silence from executing its grand plans, at least for the moment, and that was all the Doctor could do in one day. Afterwards, he could regroup and figure out a way to disassemble the entire organization and bring Kovorian to justice. But the deprogramming device? No, he’d poured his sweat and blood into that machine because of one girl, and only one girl – Melody. But they still had yet to figure out where the Silence was hiding her, and that was a constant source of frustration that never seemed to heal.  
  
This was just the beginning of a long and bloody war. The Silence would take time to defeat.  
  
So, he planned on distracting River and himself with some fine wine and good company. At least for the day—  
  
His musing stopped short, when he climbed aboard his ship and quickly discovered it vacant. River wasn’t anywhere in sight. Neither was Nine. Leaving the ship unattended like that wasn’t like either of them. The Doctor spent a few minutes searching the rooms and the winding twists of corridors before emerging back out onto the deck. The sun was bright and glaring, and he grimaced, shading his eyes against the violent light with his hand.  
  
 _Where was everyone?_  
  
He stopped wondering the moment he spotted the glint of metal on the deck. Feeling abruptly gut-wrenched, for a long moment afterwards, he attempted to reconcile himself with the new unfolding evidence. Bending to pick it up, he discovered an abandoned syringe of a tranq dart. He smelled the residue, then licked across the tip, tasting a certain familiar form of sedative. The revelation was like a sharp staccato of pain slicing clean through him.  
  
River.  
  
Nine.  
  
Fear slammed into him with more force than he expected. Eyes wide and alert, the Doctor straightened and searched the periphery. He found only tourists. The noise of nearby seagulls melded in with the infectious chatter of the growing crowd, and the rush hour traffic beyond the pier was lining the streets like a parking garage.   
  
One day – one bloody day of freedom, and he’d risked too much.  
  
Wrangling together his nerves, he pulled out his mobile. A second later, Jack was on the line. “Get everyone back,” he ordered tersely, eyes still scanning the horizon. “We’re got a problem.”  
  


* * *

  
  
It took less than an hour for everybody to come back. Probably because they’d barely had any time to get away.  
  
The Doctor didn’t waste time organizing a search party. He’d already canvased the area and found minimal clues; whoever had taken River and Nine had left behind a scene that was a messy blend of proficiency and sloppy execution. There wasn’t much evidence to go on, but the tranq dart had been left out in the open, almost as if a taunt. There were no signs of a fight, which meant River and Nine had been caught off guard – no easy feat. Plus, the dart told him that they were taken alive, which proved promising. Hostage-situation, the Doctor could deal with. It was the thought of River and Nine  _dead_  that managed to unhinge the Doctor, so he tried to shut away that thought. Mostly, it was ineffective.   
  
The Silence was always once step ahead of him, but this time they had gone too far. He wasn’t unused to losing friends and comrades, but something had shifted – some form of connection that he’d never had before. The thought of River in harm’s way made something inside the Doctor twist in a rather cruel form. He didn’t know what happened now. He’d never been this…  _thrown_ before.   
  
“I’ve got it!” Mickey announced, swiveling in his chair. There was no smugness or typical boasting this time; Mickey delivered the news without fanfare. “Street cameras caught them being loaded into a black van three hours ago.”  
  
“Where to?”  
  
“Tracked them to a factory on the east side—”  
  
“I’ll drive,” Rose announced, already reaching for the car keys.  
  
The Doctor didn’t have the patience to argue. They loaded up into several cars within seconds, and the Doctor slid into the passenger seat of a small red sports-car that Rose had rented out for the day. The drive was chaotic. Knuckles bleaching white on the steering wheel, Rose drove them through the early morning congestion. She took them through a few short cuts, often cutting across lanes of cars by sweeping the stretch of motorway; they followed Mickey’s directions to mid-town. The entire time, neither of them said a word. Soon the pink stain of dusk filtered through the windshield, and by the time they had arrived at the factory, it took only one calculated glance at the periphery for the Doctor to judge that the place was still occupied. At the entrance were several armed security guards with their weapons out, standing behind a very tall dark-skinned man, obviously military, uniform starched and well-groomed, a few glinting metals and stripes that spoke of a rank no lower than Colonel.   
  
Looking around, the Doctor spotted the bag of arsenal that Rose had loaded into the backseat. He could spy weapons dangling from all sides and peeking through the opening of a dark green tote bag. He hated guns, but he picked up the bag, rummaged through, and then pulled out a single grenade.  
  
“What are you doing?” Rose asked, alarmed.  
  
“Follow my lead,” he told her, and then climbed out of the car.  
  
He had no plan, particularly. Instead, fueled by the nature of the day and the thought of River and Nine in trouble, the Doctor adopted the same improvised battle tactic that had given him the reputation of a mad man.   
  
“Hello,” he greeted affably, then pulled the pin on his grenade, keeping his finger on the release. “Now do as I demand or I’ll blow everyone here sky high.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Less than five minutes later, the factory was theirs. It proved to be a rather large building, and he sent Jack and the others to begin searching the grounds for River and Nine. In the meantime, the Doctor took the Colonel – Manton was his name – and seated him in the main wing just near the entrance.   
  
“She’s not here,” the Colonel taunted. “River Song has already been transported. She’s long gone.”  
  
“Where—” the Doctor asked, in the same moment that Rose cut in with, “What about the man she was with? What about the double-oh agent?”  
  
Colonel Manton smiled. “The Doctor is dead.”  
  
Silence fell. Every muscle in the Doctor’s body stiffened, but that was nothing in comparison to how quickly the color washed out of Rose’s face. It was, suddenly, sickeningly obvious what had happened. They’d taken Nine and mistaken him for—  
  
“You-you killed him?” Rose breathed out, stricken.  
  
“No,” the Colonel answered, blithely. “I had hired goons to do it. But feel better. I killed those goons as soon as they completed their jobs. The Silence has no need of hired guns now that I’m here.”  
  
“No,” Rose said, recovering with a shake of her head. “No, you’re  _lying_.”  
  
“The Doctor’s body is in the east wing,” Colonel Manton continued. “Check for yourself. Room 12, first corridor.”  
  
Rose paused, traded a look with the Doctor, and then turned on her heels and fled. For a moment, the Doctor wondered if he should follow after her, but something made him stay rooted in his spot. In many ways, the Doctor had little to fear in life, but in some ways, he was an utter  _coward._  He remained behind, with a dull sense that warned him against questioning the validity of the Colonel’s claim or he might not like what he’d find. The thought of Nine dead was too horrifying for the Doctor to think about, at least yet, and he certainly didn’t have the stamina to deal with it in the same moment that Rose was confronted with the body, if there was one.   
  
The sight of that would – the Doctor’s gaze slid downward in shame.  
  
Colonel Manton barked a laugh. “You went up against the Silence and expected it to be easy? To suffer no causalities? We are a legion. And we’ve all been waiting for the day the Coronation recruits us a million more believers. You thought you could fight that?”  
  
Despite the brief loss of control, the Doctor tensed and narrowed his eyes at the Colonel. Manton proved overconfident, grabbing some overturned chair from the corner and turning it upright, brushing off the dust before he sat it down in front of a crate. He gestured for the Doctor to join him.   
  
“What do you want?” the Doctor asked, unable to stop himself. “What is the Silence after?”  
  
“We believe in a new order. The established system is corrupt, and through one means or another, we will overthrow it. We are staunch in our beliefs. We are—”  
  
“ _We are, we are, we are_ ,” the Doctor cut in, mocking. “My, aren’t we in love with the royal we? I see that you love to talk. Good, because you’re going to tell me exactly where you sent River Song.”  
  
“I’ll never say a thing.”  
  
“Oh, you stupid,  _stupid_  man,” the Doctor declared in a low voice. He took one chair by the end and flipped it around, sitting down. They faced each other, the crate in between serving as a makeshift table. All that was missing was a deck of cards, and then they could have themselves a real party. “You’re going to tell me everything, or I’m going to show you exactly how…” he struggled to contain his temper, to find the right words, “ _foolish_  it is for you people to harm the ones that I love.”  
  
The Colonel stared, and whatever he heard in the Doctor’s voice, it was apparently enough to make him pause.  
  
The moment was interrupted when there was a knock on the side-door, and Jack stepped in slowly. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery, and he carried himself in with a heavy weight on his shoulders. Jack said nothing, but the sight of his disheveled state slammed into the Doctor, and suddenly, the news needed no further confirmation.  _Nine was dead._  A sharp slice of grief slid between the Doctor’s ribcage, and he steadied himself with a painful breath and closed his eyes.  
  
Manton regained use of his voice, “We’ll do to you what we did to the Doctor. You cannot stop us. Give up now and save your lives.”  
  
The Doctor turned slowly, and stared. Manton was considerably bulkier and stronger than him, but something about the look the Doctor gave him made him sit up straighter. Perhaps it was because, suddenly, the Doctor had detached himself from grief and any bit of pain, because those were things that distracted him – he only had room for one emotion. The one that would fuel him.  
  
Rage.  
  
Pure, calculating rage.  
  
“You’ve already reported the death of the Doctor?”  
  
Manton smiled, as if he’d gained some upper hand. “It was my honor and privilege. Kovorian greeted the news with a smile. And River Song will soon be joining him, mark my words.”  
  
The Doctor’s lips twisted into something that was, in some remote sense, a smile. “ _I’m the Doctor,_ ” he declared, wiping that smug expression off Manton’s face. The Doctor took a perverse amount of pleasure from that. “Listen very carefully, Colonel, because I’m only going to say this once for dexterity. You think you’re unstoppable? Watch me end the Silence  _tomorrow_. You think you’re going to raise an army of children? I’ll show you a war. With all due respect – which in this particular case, is no respect at all – you haven’t seen me in action. You think you’re ruthless and calculating?” He could feel the impatience of that fight already building in his veins. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you a world without mercy.”  
  


* * *

  
  
River felt numb, light-headed with the lack of feeling that came with too many things to think about – so she'd acted practically  _docile_  as she was flown to the newest Silence facility. Four hours and thirty minutes later, River was in Egypt. There was some joke to be had about denial not just being a river in Egypt and  _yadda-yadda-yawn_ , but Nine’s blood was still on her hands, dried in flakes, a constant reminder of reality.  
  
One of the female guards had informed River, sympathetically enough and not in any insulting way, that everyone would remain here for a while. She knew this would throw a wrench in the plans that the Doctor had made for the big day, but River hoped they’d march on, regardless. The Coronation needed to take priority over any rescue mission. She didn’t want the Doctor distracted from what his team needed to do, but she suspected and feared he wouldn’t be seeing things her way.   
  
The guards paused for a minute, going through security measures. Standing and staring at the opulent double doors that led into a gigantic Egyptian house, River wished for something to do, a clear set of goals to distract her from the grief that was clinging stickily to her chest. Inside, she found the hallways were all white-marble and the corridors lined with rich, luscious rugs. River was led passed several rooms, all showcasing towering pillars and lavish furniture, the type that came from old money. When she finally entered the last room, it turned out to be a study, and she found Kovorian sitting behind a glass desk. She sat like her chair was a throne. Legs crossed, ever decadent – Kovorian tilted her head and watched River steadily as she was escorted inside.   
  
“Welcome, River Song.”  
  
River stayed on the other side of the desk, posture aloof but dangerously arrogant. Her voice was a strange combination of amusement contained in a slow, drawn-out drawl, “Well, well, well, your hospitality and accommodations have improved since the last time. A mansion? For little ol’ me?”  
  
Kovorian smiled. “Still sounding so amused and arrogant? Even after your lover died?”  
  
River stiffened. They thought the Doctor was dead instead of Nine, and River wasn’t going to dissuade them of that notion.  
  
“Tomorrow is a special day,” Kovorian said, looking pleased with River’s silence. River calculated the amount of time it’d take to hop over that desk and stick a letter-opener in Kovorian’s jugular, before her host continued, “And I’ve got a present for you in celebration.”  
  
Kovorian motioned to one of the guards, and River watched curiously as he left, and then returned a second later.   
  
Melody was escorted in.   
  
River felt anxiety drench itself down her spine, a full physical reaction, and her speeding heartbeat and the rush of blood in her own ears drowned out the noises of the next second. Melody was older by nearly a year since the last time River had seen her, much taller and with more meat on her bones. Also unlike the last time, her hair was no longer unkempt but tied back in a tight, militaristic bun, clothes completely unsuited to a girl of her age. She wore a dark uniform just like the rest of Kovorian’s henchmen. There was a wisp of something River barely recognized as youth in her daughter’s demeanor, an uncomfortable shadowy reminder that Melody had no childhood to speak of.   
  
Kovorian beamed at Melody. “Her training has gone well. She’s nearly complete now.”  
  
Self-imposed with all the justification in the world, Kovorian had somehow managed to block out the horror of what she’d done to Melody and instead looked to her with something disgustingly close to…  _motherly_  pride. River wanted to scream, wanted to inflict a scary amount of violence at the injustice of it all, but instead she held carefully still and soaked up the sight of Melody as if it were the last chance she’d have to see her daughter. Likely, it was.  
  
“My gift,” Kovorian said, rising from her chair. “You shall have the day with her. Get to know your daughter, River Song. See what a mighty weapon we have made of her.”  
  
River was too preoccupied with Melody to particularly note the way Kovorian was smiling, but she knew this wasn’t a charitable act. River didn’t know what Kovorian was up to, but as the older woman left, she was true to her word, leaving Melody alone with River inside the locked room. River knew she should have immediately started looking for an escape route – just taken Melody and fled. But it was unlikely Kovorian would have left her with any possible way out, and besides, River was still too mesmerized by Melody.  
  
“Hello,” River tried, a bit desperately.  
  
Melody had long, perfectly straight brown hair, and she had big white teeth, and little red lips, and –  _John’s eyes_. River had noted it before, but the handful of times she’d managed to see the proof for herself was still too few in number. The sight still took her breath away.  
  
“I know you don’t know me, but you don’t have anything to fear from me, sweetheart,” River tried. “I’m… I’m here to protect you.” And then she almost laughed, because the idea of that suddenly seemed so outlandish and cruel. What protection had she ever offered before? “Melody, do you know who I am?”  
  
There was a lengthy pause. “You’re my mother.”  
  
A rush of air left River’s lungs. She wanted to rush forward, but Melody held very still, so still in fact that River aborted the idea of pulling her into her arms. River needed to remember everything the child had been through, and Melody was standing at attention like a soldier, not a little girl. The sight tore at River.  
  
“Would you—” River began, almost at a complete loss. All this time, all these years, hoping for just this moment, and River barely knew where to begin. “Would you like to sit? I’d like to talk to you, very much.”  
  
Melody paused, and something in her gaze softened – just a bit. She glanced to the chair that was set in front of the long oblong glass table, and then with a brief furtive look towards River again, nodded. River joined her near the desk, pulling the two chairs together so they faced each other. Melody slid into her chair quietly, and River had to remind herself not to reach out several times, but the ache of holding her child was nearly overwhelming.   
  
Instead, River folded her hands in her lap, fingers clenching each other tightly. “I suspect you have a lot to say,” River began. “Even though I know perhaps silence is all you’ve ever known. You must have so many questions.”  
  
Melody’s gaze darted up to her face, and then slowly, nodded.  
  
“I have a story to tell you,” River continued, softly. “Of what’s happened, and what’s to happen. I wish I could tell you that it’s all going to change now. I wish I could tell you that you’ll be loved. That you’ll be safe and cared for and protected. But this isn’t the time for lies. What you are going to be, Melody, is very very brave.”  
  


* * *

  
  
The Doctor headed back towards the room where the others had all gathered. Images haunted him; he pictured Nine’s slacken face, and Rose’s grief, and the hollowness of everyone else’s stare. He pictured what River must have gone through moments before Nine’s death, and what she was possibly going through right  _now_ , and the Doctor’s legs felt like lead. Despite the weighted concerns, he kept a defiant chin up and stalked forward, because everyone was still looking to him to lead, to have all the answers.   
  
In his original plans, he hadn't had much of anything offensive left to work with. But all of a sudden, infiltrating the royal guards and destroying the Crown seemed weak tactic. Yes, they’d remove the device and thwart the Silence from executing its grand plans. At least for the moment, but it left the entire organization intact and Kovorian still in power. He couldn’t afford to think about dealing with one thing at a time.   
  
One thing at a time with a juggernaut like the Silence would mean a never-ending fight.  
  
Now, he was rethinking things. Energized by the cool slice of grief, he realized they needed to re-strategize, regroup. It was a difficult thing to manage when the sight of Nine’s broken body was still fresh on everybody’s mind, but this was always the worst part – everyone around him dying, and every scratch he had just seemed to  _heal_. Then they all had to move on.   
  
Sometimes, he wished he didn't.  
  
“Change of plans,” the Doctor announced as he walked swiftly through the door. “Everything we’ve been preparing for the last few months?  _Forget it entirely._ ”  
  
“Wait, what?” Jack barked, straightening. “Say that again.”  
  
“We’re coming up with something new.”  
  
“Whoa, okay,” Mickey said, exchanging a frantic look with his wife. “I understand you’re upset. River is kidnapped, and Nine—” he swallowed, doing his best to avoid looking at Rose as he left the sentence unfinished. “But we can’t go mad. The entire nation is at stake.”  
  
“Mickey’s right,” Jack said, softly. “River wouldn’t want this.”  
  
“River isn’t here,” the Doctor answered. “I’m here. I’m the one in charge. So unless you guys can come up with some brilliant plans in the next thirty seconds, maybe you should listen to mine.”  
  
There was a lengthy beat of silence that followed. Finally, Rose spoke up, “We’ll listen, Doctor.”  
  
“Even if you are a bit scary looking, at the moment,” Rory added.  
  
“Good,” the Doctor acknowledged. “Well, not good to the scary-looking bit, but  _good_  to the other part where you’re willing to listen and I hope you’re willing to do more than that, Rory. Because this entire plan hinges on you. Jack and Mickey will help you infiltrate, but you’re the key figure. Main guy, key guy. The big cheese.”  
  
“The big cheese?”  
  
“The biggest in all the land,” the Doctor boasted.  
  
Rory swallowed heavily. “Why does that instill me with unbridled fear?”  
  
“Because you know me so well,” the Doctor answered, bluntly.  
  


* * *

  
  
River knew she was treading on dangerous ground, but when night fell and the guards made their rotations, she tested for weaknesses. Unfortunately, she found none. The room they’d detained her in was rather unremarkable and had only two exits: windows that were barred, and a hallway door that led out to a corridor with a least a dozen guards, if not more. She had escaped prison several times, but that had always been under less constant scrutiny.   
  
Plus, she had to plan her escape carefully, if only for the reason that Melody was with her now.   
  
She glanced back to the dark sofa where Melody had been sleeping for a while; River liked to think it was a testament to how comfortable Melody felt around River, that she could fall asleep in her company, but it was also as if sheer exhaustion had won out as the evening wore on. They’d talked a lot – well, River talked. Melody had listened with this intent look on her face as if she were making mental notations of everything for later reference. She’d said only a handful of things, and though River suspected she was brimming with curiosity, Melody never raised any questions. Melody only responded when it was clear that River was waiting for a response.  
  
The Silence had trained her child like a dog, to do everything on command. River felt a rising tide of anger over that, the type that had lain dormant for so long but the more she stayed in the presence of Melody, the more she couldn’t fight it back anymore.   
  
Kovorian needed to pay for what she’d done.  
  
Still, River took a deep breath and reminded herself of priorities. Melody looked so small in her sleep. As if the mere concept of rest was a luxury that she was not afforded often. Sleep without sensing everything around her, the constant vigilance they must have trained into her. Sleep without waking up in a cold cell somewhere. Sleep without being a soldier, a weapon, a little baby that had been fashioned after a gun. River looked at the breathing form next to her, and thought of a girl whose life was inhibited, stagnated, a childhood that was gone, having never existed.   
  
But in sleep, Melody did not look so different to any other child, so much more untainted, if not innocent, and River held out hope that whatever chances at happiness Melody had in childhood – it was not yet ripped away from her.  
  
River settled down next to Melody, and allowed herself the luxury of brushing back long strands of hair away from her daughter’s face. Despite the pull of exhaustion, River sat up and resolved to watch over Melody throughout the night. And so many hours passed, until a red dawn rose and a new day began.  
  
It was finally the day of the Coronation.   
  
The weary weight of a sleepless night was nothing in comparison to the anticipation that thrummed through River’s body. Still, the morning passed listlessly. Melody had woken up late in the morning, and they’d been wheeled in breakfast. Pancakes and waffles for the hostages. River rubbed tiredly at her eyes and attempted to keep focus as the day marched onwards. Anxiety coiled tight in her stomach, and the lack of any news left the house seeming strangely quiet and desolate. River had spent months planning for this day, and now she didn’t even have a TV to watch the events unfold. Her one saving grace was that Melody seemed to be letting her guard down a little more today, having acclimated to the presence of River a bit. River had even managed to earn a small smile from her, and the reward of that made the thought of enduring any amount of isolation today worth it several times over.  
  
There was only an hour left before the King would be crowned in Westminster Abbey, at noon precisely. The rest of the day was reserved for celebration and media anarchy. Details of the event had been talked about ad naseum, but such press coverage had proven beneficial to the planning stages of the Doctor’s plan. They knew who was attending, how long the ceremony would last, the ceremonial aspects, as well as the minor details like the use of the state carriages and roles for the Foot Guards and Household Cavalry, which had factored in heavily to how the Doctor had planned his assault.  
  
River hoped everything was going smoothly. She couldn’t say with any confidence if the Doctor was sticking to the plan – he never liked plans much, always liked to improvise, but she hoped that her own abduction and Nine’s… death wasn’t playing a negative factor in his sometimes volatile nature.  
  
Kovorian came for them a short time before noon. “So, River Song, what do you think of your daughter?”  
  
It happened so fast, almost unthinking – but the next thing River knew, she was at Kovorian’s throat. All she had were her bare hands and a motive fueled by a mother’s grief, but it was enough to catch everyone off kilter, especially Kovorian’s guards. They tried to pull her off, but River’s stubbornness and anger overwhelmed the struggle and River wouldn’t let go until the bitch was dead.  
  
Then, all of a sudden, there was a dull tip of a pen pressed against River’s jugular, and even more surprising, the hefty weight of a little girl glued to her back.   
  
“Release Madame Kovorian,” Melody said, coolly and calmly, pressing the tip hard enough into River’s skin that she felt blood trickle out.  
  
The sheer shock of that declaration unhinged River’s resolve for a second, and then the guards gained an upper hand. She was pulled off Kovorian, who was choking and gasping for breath, red-faced and angry, but all River could see was the cool calculated gaze of an eight year old girl that had just threatened someone’s life with a ballpoint pen, and would’ve been more than capable of following through.   
  
Kovorian rubbed at her throat, and glared. “She’s trained well, isn’t she? Melody, do me a favor. If your mother hurts me again,  _kill her._ ”  
  
“Yes, Madame Kovorian,” Melody answered, obediently.  
  
River straightened.   
  
“Bring them with us.”  
  
Kovorian marched out of the room, and the guards prodded River into moving. Melody was a few steps behind her, and River wanted to turn back and say something, reach out to her, but the presence of Kovorian had triggered some type of Pavlovian affect; whatever progress River had made with Melody back-slid into oblivion.   
  
They were led through the twisting corridors of the mansion towards the library. There were layers upon layers of books, filled to the brim with enough reading material to last several lifetimes, and Kovorian walked up and tugged at a single book on the corner shelf. The entire wall parted, giving way to reveal a hidden passage behind it. Kovorian tossed a smug smirk over her shoulder at River, and then led the entourage down the dark lit pathway.  
  
River couldn’t make out much in the shadows. There were noises in the distance, of people talking animatedly, and when they emerged out of the end of the hall, River was surprised to look down and find a large room full of people dressed in dark hooded robes. More than a dozen. The cavernous room spread out, lit only by torches and the occasional lamplight held by a guard or two, but the place obviously had electricity because River could spy three big-screen TVs affixed to the walls. They were all tuned into channels that covered the Coronation.   
  
River took a headcount. There were five guards in total, stationed to one side, unobtrusive and irreverent. She eyed the thirteen hooded figures with more interest, wondering who they were and what was going on.  
  
“My faithful subjects,” Kovorian announced, “The day has come. Today, our numbers grow by the millions. Tomorrow, we will command an army of children, each as capable and loyal as our little Melody.” Kovorian motioned for Melody to step forward, and River had to contain her rampant anger as she watched her daughter step forward to the ledge. “All this, and more!”  
  
Kovorian was not greeted by anything as mundane as enthusiastic shouting or the holler of assent. Instead, quietly, one by one, the hooded figures raised both their hands in the air, and then bowed down to Kovorian, a silent gesture of supplication.   
  
“You see?” Kovorian said to River. “This is why I kept you alive. You will witness this day, and you will see how fruitless all your struggling and fighting has been. Those figures down there are some of the most powerful men and women in all of Great Britain, and they all bow to me. Bear  _witness_  to my uncontested power.”  
  
River stepped forward, taking a sweeping glance at the bowed figures below – all, except one. One still stood standing. “Who’s that one?” River remarked, wryly.  
  
Kovorian followed her gaze. “Who stands tall before me?” she demanded, unpleased.  
  
The lone figure in question stepped forward. With one hand, he drew back his hood and revealed the Doctor himself. “Hi, honey,” he beamed to River. “I’m home.”  
  
His presence was a complete shock, looking so out of place with robed men all around and – and was he wearing  _glasses_? But River simply braced a hand on her hip, admonishing, “And what sort of time do you call this?”  
  
“How?” Kovorian gasped, angrily. “You’re dead!”  
  
“Got better,” the Doctor remarked, blithely. “Then I thought, y’know, I ought to celebrate my non-deadness and what’s better than a party? And what’s better than a party in a great big creepy dungeon in a foreign country in the house of a mad dictator-person with delusions of grandeur and taking over the world? Then I thought, what the hell? Might as well invite a few friends!”  
  
A third of the cloaked figures pulled back their hoods to reveal the Doctor’s entourage. From Amy to Rose to Donna to Martha; besides the Doctor, none of the boys were present.   
  
This was all wrong, though. They should have all been trying to disrupt the Coronation ceremony. They should have been trying to prevent the Silence’s brainwashing signal from broadcasting.  
  
Kovorian sputtered. “How did you find us?”  
  
“Can’t hire good henchmen these days,” the Doctor remarked. “And look at me, I’m confident! You want to watch out for me when I’m confident.”  
  
River slammed an elbow back into the face of one of the guards, and anarchy broke out. Down below, a fight emerged as the MI6 agents started dispensing the Silence members. The remaining cloaked figures seemed to panic in the ensuing chaos, but they were easily taken out. The guards fell almost immediately after that. Meanwhile, River had overtaken her own sentries with a few deft maneuvers, hurtling one guard over the ledge and onto the dirt floor below.   
  
Kovorian back-peddled a few steps when River turned on her. River retrieved one of the sidearms, and the feel of metal in her hands had never felt more appropriate or enticing. She heard the Doctor’s shout from below, urging her to wait, but this was too much. Too much sacrificed and destroyed because of this woman, and River raised her arm with quick aim.  
  
“Melody!” Kovorian screeched.  
  
Belatedly, River turned to find Melody had risen with one of the fallen soldier’s gun, the aim trained expertly on River.   
  
River froze. “Melody, sweetheart, you don’t want to do this.”  
  
“Desire is irrelevant,” Kovorian answered. “She is  _mine_!”  
  
“You let her go!” the Doctor ordered, climbing up to them. By this time, the Silence members down below had been entirely subdued, and the four female M16 agents had the entire place under their control. “You’re not going anywhere.”  
  
“Oh, yes I am,” Kovorian threatened. “Because I still control Melody. If any of you harm me, her first order is to kill River.”  
  
The Doctor exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring with contained anger. “You’ve lost. You’ve lost everything.”  
  
There was meaning behind the words that River did not grasp. “What are you talking about?” Kovorian demanded. “You think you can outsmart me?  _I_  had the Queen of England killed.  _I_ orchestrated events to brainwash and condition the nation’s children into becoming my army. Moments from now, the Coronation will commence. You cannot stop that!”  
  
The Doctor smiled, then tapped the ridges of the black-framed glasses that he had perched on his nose. “You see these? I wear glasses now. Glasses are cool. They also contain a camera that just recorded your confession of orchestrating a national conspiracy. Thanks for that. Very neat. I’m sure the authorities will love this.”  
  
Kovorian sneered a smile. “I have my people in every level of the government. That confession is worth nothing.”  
  
The Doctor simply tapped his watch next. River realized it was noon and her eyes darted to the large big screen TVs. With baited breath, she watched the familiar royal figure bow down before the Archbishop of Canterbury, and crowned King.   
  
 _Damn it._  
  
“See?” Kovorian declared hotly, turning away from the TV. “You couldn’t stop it. Right now that image is being spread across this country, and every child that sees that crown will—”  
  
“Wrong,” the Doctor declared.   
  
Below, the hooded figures and the Silence guards all suddenly dropped unconscious.  
  
“I want you to remember this moment,” the Doctor continued to Kovorian, coldly. “Every time you think about all you were, all this power you had – I want you to remember this moment right here. And, when people come to you, and ask you if trying to use defenseless children in a war of your own making... is in  _any_  way a good idea... I want you to remember this moment right here. When you lost  _everything_.”  
  
Kovorian looked to her fallen men, and then back up at the Doctor. “What have you done?”  
  
“You had to protect your own people, didn’t you?” the Doctor taunted. “You had to condition them so that they could withstand the effects of the brainwashing – but in doing so, you made their brainwaves change. It was your protection that doubled back on you. I recalibrated the device so that it affected only the brainwave frequencies that the Silence members respond to.”  
  
“You’ve brainwashed them?” River asked, shocked, glancing to the fallen Silence members down below.  
  
That hadn’t been any part of the original plans.  
  
“Yes,” he answered, and then shifted his eyes back to Kovorian. “We thought about destroying or replacing the Crown Jewels, but I realized you’d just attempt again.”  
  
From below, Amy hollered haughtily, “But that wasn’t the only thing we could replace. Right now, that man that millions watched being crowned King? Isn’t the King at all, but my husband. Rory Williams.”  
  
Kovorian snapped her gaze up to the TV again, watching the televised event, and River followed suit. Rory’s ability to impersonate a target was highly skillful, but this was on a whole new level. The person onscreen looked  _exactly_  like the Head of the British Monarch; the make-up was flawless. Rory was indistinguishable from the King, but when the camera showed a close-up of the face, River examined the eyes and – yes. She could see the unvarnished kindness of Rory in them.   
  
“We replaced the King,” the Doctor declared. "Quite ingenious of me, if I do say so myself. I always love those little epiphany moments that I have. I mean, why dream little when you can dream so  _big_."  
  
“Which, by the way,” Amy added, with a shrug, “makes me Queen. I’m the bloody Queen now.”  
  
The Doctor rolled his eyes, then continued onwards, “Rory implanted our own device into his crown. One that targeted Silence members. One that told them to disown all loyalty to you and your little movement.”  
  
Kovorian worked her throat for words. “No – No, you wouldn’t. Good men don’t do this! That would go against your own ethics. You have  _rules_.”  
  
“Good men don’t need rules,” the Doctor mused. “Now you know why I have so many.”  
  
The chill of that moment settled in like ice in River’s chest. She’d always known that the Doctor was capable of making hard decisions, but this one was edging over the line. He had brainwashed thousands of people, possibly millions. Yes, they were Silence members, and yes, they had planned for the destruction of this nation and so much more – but there was a cruelty inherent in it anyway. And the Doctor had ordered and executed the coup flawlessly.   
  
River didn’t know whether to love him in that moment, or fear him.  
  
The hooded Silence members below regained consciousness in that moment, as did the guards that had been watching the television at the precise moment the signal went out. Each and every one of them stood slowly, disoriented.   
  
“Quickly,” Kovorian shouted, desperately. “Attack the intruders! Get them!”  
  
None of the Silence members budged to follow her orders. None of them even  _tried_.  
  
“Your reign is over,” the Doctor declared, with finality.   
  
A hardness fell over Kovorian’s face. She settled her gaze on the Doctor, then looked beyond him to where Melody still stood, almost forgotten. The gun was still in her hands, and River realized with a fit of fear that her daughter had not been watching the television at the precise moment the signal had gone out; Melody’s gaze had been trained on Kovorian and River.  
  
She was still under Kovorian’s thrall.  
  
“I am stepping out of here,” Kovorian declared. “And I’m taking Melody with me. You do one thing to stop me, one thing to harm me, and Melody will kill River Song, just as I have ordered. You’ve won the battle, Doctor, but the child is lost.”  
  
“No,” River breathed out, sickly.   
  
River started to advance, but Melody tensed her hand on the gun, and River looked back, wavering. She thought all of the heartache and pain Melody had suffered, and there was no way she would risk Melody falling into the hands of Kovorian all over again. Not even if her life depended on it.   
  
She resorted to exchanging a significant look with the Doctor. They were used to giving each other looks, conversing perfectly without any words – and there was some mixture of love and apology and other countless emotions passing from her to him in the span of a few beats.   
  
“River,” the Doctor choked out, knowingly. “ _No._ ”  
  
“I’m sorry, my love,” River said, with that one last bittersweet smile.   
  
Then she swiftly turned and fired off a round that hit Kovorian dead-center in the forehead. As expected, another shot rang out from Melody’s gun – and River’s legs caved under her, the Doctor screaming her name all the while as she fell to the floor.   
  
The pain was gone after another shot rang out, and oblivion overtook her.


	17. Chapter 17

**Epilogue**    
  
The next few months passed by in a blur for Rose.  
  
She remembered scattered details that she’d rather forget. She wore black to the funeral because that was what you were supposed to do, but it was so strange, standing there at the edge of an open grave, accepting condolences without really hearing the words. Nine’s funeral had been modest, only a handful of people. The only thing she remembered with any startling clarity was the moment they’d lowered the casket into the ground.  
  
The plot for Nine’s grave had not been far from the same gravesite that held John Smith. She’d visited both in a single day, dropping red roses on the latter’s gravestone, brushing her hand across the in-graved words that marked out his name and dates, with only the single phrase of  _Allons-y_  written underneath, his favorite catchphrase.  
  
Two men she loved, both lying in the same graveyard.   
  
She hadn’t been back to London since then, but two months afterwards, the Doctor had requested a meeting with her in Hyde Park on the west side of the city. Rose found she could not decline him.   
  
When she arrived, she had a newspaper tucked under one arm and her suitcase rolling behind her. She found the Doctor sitting at the park bench alone, eyes alit with merriment at the sight of Melody glaring at some ginger-haired boy who was threatening to tug her pigtails. Instead of playing with the other children, Melody seemed content to sit on the grass with a book open in her hands. The little girl studied Rose as she picked her away across the green fields towards the Doctor, and Rose suddenly felt foolish for wearing designer high heels for a meeting in the park. She’d come straight from the airport, but Melody’s scrutiny made Rose wonder what she was thinking.  
  
Rose had never been able to tell the age of children, but Melody looked older than her age by years, imbuing the brooding nature of a teenager.  
  
“She seems to be enjoying herself,” Rose remarked, wryly.  
  
The Doctor offered a prideful grin. “She likes to read. A nose always in a book. Can’t seem to pry them away from her.”  
  
Rose turned to study the Doctor acutely while his attention was on other things; he seemed better than she expected, given the circumstances. She could see the dusky bruising of too little sleep and too much worry under his eyes, but at the same time, he watched Melody with such fondness that Rose couldn’t help but smile. Rose had always known he was good with kids, but it was another thing entirely to be foisted into the role of a single parent to a child that had been traumatized her entire life. But if anyone was capable of handling the task, it was the Doctor. A few sessions of that deprogramming device, Melody was slowly emerging out from her shell, but Rose knew any progress had just as much to do with the fact that the Doctor could bring out the inner child in anyone.  
  
Rose sat down next to him on the bench, and quietly offered him her newspaper. “River was making the news again.”  
  
The Doctor hesitated, then unfolded the newspaper.   
  


> _Authorities announced they have officially closed the murder investigation of River Song, with inconclusive findings. Famous for such heists as the London Museum of Arts break-in of ’06, and considered responsible for more than fifty million pounds in stolen artwork, River Song’s story gained a new level of notoriety when she escaped prison and was suspected of stealing the British Crown Jewels during the months it had gone missing in 2010._
> 
> _Since then, conspiracy theorists have come out of the woodwork, running rampant with notions that Ms. Song may have been involved in any number of politically-charged events, including the death of the Silence’s leader, Madame Kovorian._
> 
> _Scotland Yard has not made any further comments regarding the investigation, but stated there will be a news conference later this week. The closure of the investigation coincides with the 18-month anniversary of her escape from Stormcage prison..._

  
  
“Donna responsible for this?” he asked.  
  
“I suspect,” Rose agreed. “She’s the only one I can think of that can pull those strings. I talked to Rory and his wife –  _Her Royal Highness_ ,” to this, they both rolled their eyes, “And they both heard whisperings about the investigation hitting a lot of walls. Rory said he’d keep an ear to the ground for more information.”  
  
“You’re still not back at Division, then?”  
  
Rose shrugged. “I’m taking some time off. Besides, Martha has my old post in Cardiff, and she and Mickey seemed to be settling in well.”  
  
For a moment, the Doctor stayed silent. “So,” he asked. “How many are following you today?”  
  
“Three,” Rose answered immediately. “They’ve switched vans, but they’re rather obvious.”  
  
“Like a pair of peacocks in a sea of elephants,” the Doctor mused, with a sour face.  
  
“You’d think the government would hire better surveillance for us.”  
  
“It’s a formality,” the Doctor waved away the topic. “Paranoia on their behalf, but can’t really blame them. It’ll settle down after a while.”  
  
Rose sighed heavily. It wasn’t like they were concerned anymore that government agents were going to come after them, but she still hated being followed. “How is—” she began, then stopped herself, biting her tongue. She had to choose her words carefully. “How are you doing?”  
  
He smiled with the eyes of a lonely man. “Well enough, soon enough.”  
  
“How soon?”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know. Depends on the weather.”  
  
Rose smiled. The exchange was simple enough that a bystander wouldn’t find it too curious, but the message was clear and meaningful to those that knew how to follow the conversation. It was all subtext and shadowy dialogue – the life of a spy.   
  
“C’mon,” she announced with a soft smile. “My old flat isn’t far from here. Haven’t been in for some time, but I’ve still got a key. Do for some tea?”  
  
The Doctor stood. “Sounds delightful, Rose Tyler.”   
  
He turned and hollered back for Melody, and the girl looked up and then gathered her things eagerly, tossing one last glare at the ginger-haired boy that had earlier annoyed her. When she joined them, Rose dropped her gaze to the cover of the book and nearly laughed when she found Melody clinging to  _Peter Pan_. How appropriate, Rose thought, sending a raised eyebrow towards the Doctor. She suspected it had been a gift, and she knew without asking who’d picked it out. She couldn’t really tease him much over it, though; Melody needed as much childish wonder in her life as she could get, and if books provided that, Rose was encouraged.  
  
They strolled in amiable silence, and a few minutes later Rose turned her key and pushed open the doors to her London flat. She hadn’t been inside in months, and she was too exhausted to shed tears of regret over the state inside – not anything as mundane as dead plants and dust and stale air. No. During the time when she had still been suspected of being a conspirator, the authorities had searched her possessions from top to bottom; Rose froze at the threshold in surprise to find the place turned upside down and torn apart.   
  
She had not thought about purchasing another flat, at least not yet. Truthfully, in fact, she had not thought about much at all— but she should have expected something along the lines of this. Her name was cleared, as were all the other MI6 agents, but there was still things left to clean up. A certain Ms. Sarah Jane Smith, a hired administrator within the agency, had visited Rose earlier, hours after they had come in from their coup over Kovorian. Sarah Jane had offered condolences while a crew had gone about cleaning up the mess that Kovorian had left behind, beginning with clearing allegations and charges. Among other things, Sarah Jane had even offered Rose the option of counseling, on the house, but Rose had politely declined.  
  
The list of things she wanted to talk about was short to nonexistent. The dust had settled, Kovorian was dead, the Silence had been disbanded and a nation and its children saved. She was only now thinking about the moral objections to the whole brainwashing the Silence thing, watching-- and witnessing, in more ways than one—the results of the Doctor’s eleventh hour plan. To look at him, one would never think him capable of such cold, hard calculation. The Doctor had been calm when the authorities had come to question him, even while he’d been covered in River’s blood. His report had been detailed and accurate. From what Rose understood of the situation, his actions were being implicitly condoned for the good of the nation.   
  
She almost wished Nine or John Smith were here, so that she could say to them,  _You see, look how well you’ve trained him. How much like you he is._  But the thought made Rose turn her head away.   
  
Recovering with a smile, Rose announced plans for tea yet again, and walked through her shambled flat towards the kitchen. She set the kettle on the stove first, then braved the fridge and pantry, discovering only several canned goods and a variety of perishable items that had turned sour or molded over in the months since anyone had stepped inside the flat. The refrigerator stank of spoiled milk when she opened it, and contained a lonely sickly stick of celery. The freezer, at least, revealed a half-eaten box of rocky-road ice cream that was salvageable. If nothing else, she could spend her time here comfortably munching away at her preferred food of comfort.  
  
The kettle whistled, and Rose set out two cups quietly while the Doctor adjusted two overturned chairs and set them beside the kitchen table. In the background, Melody had already settled into the corner with her book open again, lost to the wonders of  _Never-Never Land._    
  
“So,” Rose broke the ice, “Why did you want to see me?”  
  
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “I need an excuse to see you?”  
  
Rose stared. Once upon a time, perhaps not. But ever since John’s death, Rose had counted on one hand the number of times the Doctor had willingly subjected himself to her company for a social call. After Nine, her presumption had been they’d go through the whole song-and-dance of the Doctor’s guilt and withdrawal all over again. She was pleasantly surprised to get his call, but she still thought it odd.  
  
He gave Rose a sheepish look, admitting, “All right, so I might have come here because some one made me promise.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
He shook his head like it didn’t matter, but she suspected she already knew. “It’s about Nine. I—” he had the look of a man unsure of how to proceed. “Before he died, he had a message for you.”  
  
Rose stared. A thousand things shot through her in an instant; she briefly wondered how he knew anything at all about Nine’s deathbed confessionals, but the thought was quickly overridden by a flare of pain and grief – a steep stab of regret at opportunities lost, at forever being the girl that had love snatched from her hands because of a universe that conspired to keep her from the men that she loved. First John, now Nine. It was enough to make a girl wonder about karma and her past lives.  
  
“What was it?” she asked, with baited breath.  
  
“He loved you,” the Doctor answered, simply.  
  
Rose was thankful she was already sitting down because the declaration made her knees go weak. Tears stung her eyes, and she’d always known – or suspected – but it was another thing to get confirmation of it.  
  
“He said that?”  
  
The Doctor paused, then admitted with a wince, “Not…  _precisely_. He couldn’t get the words out, but River knew what he meant.” That answered one question. Though  _when_  River had conveyed this message to the Doctor was a mystery. Rose felt herself deflate, as the Doctor continued, “You really didn’t need him to say it, did you?”  
  
Rose paused, then after a beat admitted to herself that,  _no._  It wasn’t necessary. She’d known.   
  
She’d always known.  
  
“His last thoughts were of you,” the Doctor said. “I think that says more than enough.”  
  
Rose busied her hands with scooping two sugars into her tea, just to keep herself preoccupied. “Well,” she recovered, swallowing heavily, “What are you supposed to do after you fall for the perfect guy – perfect  _guys_ , really, in my case. I mean, after that, who could compete? I’d need a bloody clone.”   
  
The Doctor watched her, smiling softly. “Well, I heard John had an identical twin brother in the military. Maybe you should look him up?”   
  
She laughed, wryly. “Yeah, right. Third times the charm.”  
  
The Doctor took a sip of his tea. “Ah, Rose Tyler. Never make fun of the idea of love. It’ll surprise you, yet.”  
  


* * *

  
  
A day later, the Doctor double-checked for tails before he pulled his car to a halt at the docks. The wind had stopped at some point after sunset. It was cold, certainly-- but it was damp and still, the kind that hung menacingly, the calm before the storm. It was nowhere near bad enough to make him rethink the voyage ahead; nothing could, really.  
  
Melody was already pulling open her door, leaving without waiting for his permission. It was progress, but slow. There were still moments where he saw her training kick in, those brief pauses where she was awaiting an order rather than a response. But today, he could sense anticipation in the air and Melody was responding like any child should – with eagerness that made her impatient. The Doctor grinned and climbed out of the car, joining her quickly on the pathway to the docks.   
  
“Wait until you see the TARDIS,” he exclaimed with excitement, passing by a few stands that sold tourist merchandize that sat along the pier. “It’s bigger on the inside, you know. Beautiful and colorful and—” he twirled about, earning a crinkle of amusement from Melody around her eyes, especially as he picked a fez off the corner stand and plopped it on his head, “like nothing you could possibly imagine.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Melody responded, quietly. “I think I could imagine a great deal. And that’s a hideous hat.”  
  
He smiled at her, popping her on the nose with his finger. “Nonsense. This hat is  _cool_.”   
  
“You really going to wear that in public?”  
  
He frowned. She was getting more and more judgmental of his fashion sense every passing day. (The thought secretly thrilled him.) Tipping his fez to one side, he examined himself in the mirror, and then grinned. After paying the merchant a few pounds for the hat, they continued on their way down the pier, though this time Melody seemed to keeping a certain distance from him, as though mortified to be seen walking down the dock with a man in a fez.  
  
The TARDIS was at the far end, docked quietly away from the bigger ships. He quickened his pace, and then had to remind himself to slow down when he found Melody trailing after him. There was a look on her face that spoke of anxiety, but it was dulled and hidden by the long curtain of her hair as she glanced away.  
  
He walked back over to her, then offered her his arm. With a deep breath, Melody took his arm and then marched alongside him up to the TARDIS. As much as he was concerned over Melody’s sudden withdrawal, his heartbeat couldn’t help but quicken in anticipation. Weeks of solitude up at his flat in London had been stifling – stifling for them  _both_. But he’d talked about sailing the open seas since the first night he’d ushered the pale girl into his home, and more importantly, Melody had always listened. Now, they were here. The plan had been executed flawlessly, and everybody had played their parts well.  
  
Now, to reap their reward.  
  
As he helped Melody climb on board the ship, a familiar voice rang out with words that warmed the Doctor down to his bones. “Hello, sweetie.”  
  
He turned around, and there she was – River Song, in her full glory, whole and healthy after months of recuperation. He’d been getting regular updates from Jack the entire time, but it was another thing to see her standing on her legs with his own two eyes, especially since the last time the Doctor had seen her, River had been bed-ridden and comatose.   
  
It had pained him to leave her in that condition, but unlike the rest of his friends and comrades, whose names had all been cleared, River Song was still wanted for murder. She was still a felon, escaped from prison. So, measures had been taken to fool the proper authorities. To the world, River Song was now dead. And thanks to Donna’s interventions earlier in the week, the investigation into her death had drawn to a close.  
  
Melody’s grip on the Doctor’s hands tightened, reminding him of her presence at his side. As many times as he had tried to assure Melody, she still seemed scared of this moment – confronted with the same mother that she had almost killed months back. River sensed the anxiety, and perhaps even shared it, because she swallowed thickly, eyes a sheen of water.   
  
“Hello, Melody,” she whispered, and gave a watery smile.   
  
“Hi,” Melody returned, demurely, still clinging to the Doctor’s hands.  
  
It tore at him a little that they were greeting each other like acquaintances or strangers. He’d had the luxury of getting to know Melody for months, and already he loved her quiet intelligence and voracious thirst for books, an unhindered sense of imagination and wonder that had not suffered even at the hands of the Silence. But in many ways, he felt he had taken something from River – and now was her chance to get it back.  
  
But River sensed that something too overt would just scare the child, so she pulled back and took a deep breath, hands wringing together. “So,” she began, then looked up. “I have many questions, but first order of business. What on Earth do you have on your head?” she asked the Doctor.  
  
He grinned back, lessening the tension in the air as he gave her a little twirl to showcase the hat. “It’s a fez. I wear a fez now.”  
  
“I told him it was stupid,” Melody said, as though she were trying to defend herself.  
  
And then, all at once, River and Melody exchanged some sort of look. “Ah, yes, well. I hold him down, and you dump it over board?” River asked her daughter.  
  
“Wait,” he began, “wha—”  
  
They responded with all the agility and coordination of a stealthy pair of thieves, needing no further communication. Before he could properly defend himself, he found River holding him down and Melody snatching the hat right off his head. With a delighted squeal, she threw it into the air, and River pulled back just in time for him to witness the fez sail through the air and land in the choppy waters below his ship.   
  
The girls collapsed into giggles in unison, and he should have known they’d bond over  _torturing_  him. After all, it was River Song and Melody. His girls.  
  
“I hate you,” he told River.  
  
“No,” she acknowledged with a grin. “You don’t.”  
  
He would have responded, but she reached up to kiss him and then he became rather preoccupied.  
  


* * *

  
  
It was a new day, and a new dawn, and River felt better than she had in  _years_.   
  
Beside her, the Doctor was still asleep, sheets wrapped around his naked torso, hair a bedridden mess. The past few months, she had almost started to believe this moment would never come, but every time she felt doubt creeping up, she remembered Nine’s parting words.  _“Don’t be like me. I lost so much, but I gave up even more._ " And every time she thought of that, her resolve to find her way back to the Doctor and Melody only intensified.  
  
Now, here she was.   
  
Melody was asleep in her own bed, close enough that River could slip out and visit her anytime she wanted. Her daughter was only seconds away. The thought warmed River, even as she realized it’d be a long journey in connecting with each other. But the journey was exactly what River had fought for – a chance to raise her daughter, be there to tuck her in at night, and comfort her and laugh with her, and fight with her when she entered her rebellious teenage years. To watch her grow old and find love and become whatever she wanted to be. River had such strong hopes for her daughter, but no matter what, in the end, she just wanted  _to be there_  for Melody.   
  
These last few months, in her own absence, River had trusted the Doctor to be that person for Melody. And he’d done wonders in that time – so well, in fact, that River thought about bringing up the idea of marriage with him, because if he’d taken to the role of fatherhood so well, he might have liked the part of a husband too. But she couldn’t think of how to voice the thought; she’d never been the clingy type, and had never really thought herself the marrying type when she was younger. It was only after John had first popped the question to her years ago that River realized she liked the idea of growing old with someone, an endless adventure of love to last a lifetime. Her first love had passed away, but by some unfathomable gift from the universe, River had found the Doctor in his wake.   
  
She wasn’t planning on letting him go, either.  
  
It was difficult to think of anything that wasn't just dreadfully smug of her while looking over the long naked stretch of the Doctor’s back, the faint redness of her fingernail scratches standing stark against the smooth lines of his back. The night had been spent reacquainting herself with the Doctor, and they’d made love several times; a collision of mouths and bodies, panting words of love into sweat-soaked skin and stroking hands across every inch of each other. She’d missed him so much, so desperately, and he’d been just as mad with want, forcing her onto her back, gripping her by the shoulders so that he could lay heavy over her, thrusting into her with such rash, mindless abandon that River's eyes had watered with the release of her orgasm.   
  
Now, she watched him sleep and was mesmerized. Something about the debauchery of her thinking must’ve stirred the Doctor from his sleep, because the next thing she knew, he was waking. He pressed his face into the pillow and then stirred, groggily opening his eyes. He looked surprised for a moment, then gave River the sweetest smile. Their eyes connected, and she couldn’t help but stare, until she sat up, holding the sheets over her front a little, but giving him full view of her bare back.   
  
“Marry me,” he said, out of the blue.  
  
She turned her head and looked at the Doctor, dazed, and then managed, "What?"  
  
He rolled over and plopped himself up on forearms, looking at her. “Marry me, River.” She stared at him with an open mouth, for once having no words, no quip, no thought in response. The Doctor laughed. “Cat got your tongue, Miss Song?”  
  
He sounded far too smug and full of himself, as if he already knew her answer; truth in fact, she shouldn’t have been surprised, but the sheer abruptness of the moment had her blinking. Turning a little to face him, River tilted her head down and examined him. It was possible, she reflected, just possible, that there was a creature out there in the cosmos somewhere that was more ridiculously gorgeous than the man beside her. River was just as confident, however, that she was unlikely to ever discover said individuals. And even if she did, River was absolutely certain she wouldn’t want them spread out naked across her bed as much as she wanted the Doctor here, night after night.  
  
With a laugh, she shook her head. “I still don’t even know your name,” she pointed out, archly.   
  
“My name?” he mused, then shifted closer.   
  
He reached around her waist and then pulled her back against him so that she was lying across him, and he couldn’t seem to stop his hands from running once briefly across her hair – he  _loved_ her hair. Then, with no forewarning, he bent to her ear and whispered a name, just a few syllables, and River’s eyes widened with unbridled joy.   
  
“There,” he declared. “Now what do you say, River Song? Let me make an honest woman out of you?”  
  
“An honest woman?  _Never_ ,” she teased, then sighed rather dramatically. “But I suppose now I have no excuse not to marry you.”  
  
“Is that a yes?”  
  
“Sweetie,” River said, reaching over to kiss him. “That’s a hell yes.”  
  


* * *

  
fin.


End file.
